


Skeletons in the Closet

by saltysarah



Category: Inception (2010), Mysterious Skin (2005), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All my headcanons, Angst and Feels, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dubious Morality, Family Feels, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Pack Feels, Panic Attacks, Scott should not be allowed to talk, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Sheriff Stilinski's A+ Parenting, headcanons, look he tries but he just sucks balls at it, the Argent family is its own warning, will update tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltysarah/pseuds/saltysarah
Summary: Stiles has a brother no one knows about. Stiles had a brother no one knows about.
Relationships: Allison Argent & Isaac Lahey & Scott McCall, Arthur & Eames (Inception), Arthur (Inception) & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69
Collections: Start Reading





	1. Some Legends are Told

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly quarantine has been very conducive to clearing out my WIP folder (lies). This is the Mysterious Skin/Inception/Teen Wolf crossover AU no one asked for, that I started maybe a decade earlier while on my JGL kick 🙃

It was a little hard to imagine, but there was an even deeper secret in Beacon Hills than Jackson’s birth parents, the reason behind Scott’s dad leaving, the Argents, or even the Hale pack.

Even if Jackson knew jackshit, Stiles was pretty sure Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore, Danny, and Lydia knew exactly who his parents were. Scott, Melissa, Dad, and he all knew why Rafael McCall skipped town, even if Scott liked to pretend he’d forgotten. And a buttload of people knew about the Argents and the Hales _now_.

But only Dad and he knew about Arthur.

No one really thought about how his dad was born and raised in a small town other than Beacon Hills, just like it even if it ain’t, why he was pushing 50 with only one teenaged kid, even if he did, according to the front lawn gossip, look awfully good for his age. People didn’t like to think that the Stilinskis had moved to Beacon Hills from elsewhere, same as most other folk. Stiles and his dad never reminded them; his mum hadn’t either, when she’d been alive.

They didn’t like remembering the son, the brother, the _family_ they’d left behind.

His mum had been born and raised in the suburbs of Hutchinson, Kansas, a complete deadbeat town, according to her, no place at all for the free-spirited wildchild she’d been. She’d been just 16 when his dad had ambled over from the county over for some reason or other, just 2 years older, and there’d been no turning back from the moment they’d met.

They’d ushered in the new year as brand spanking new parents and were gone before the last snows had melted, driven from their small town by smaller-minded folk, unable to bring the baby with them. The plan had been to have Mum’s ma follow them cross-country once they finally found a place.

It took his parents 2000 miles to finally feel safe. No one ever could explain to Stiles just what happened next.

Instead, a feral 18-year-old turned up on their doorstep late one summer, with his dad’s face and his mum’s hair, worn long and falling sloppy into his eyes. Mum had known him on sight, had immediately burst into tears at the sight of him. He’d introduced himself as Neil Arthur McCormick; his parents hadn’t even named him, and he’d taken their grandma’s maiden name as his own.

When Stiles first saw Derek lash out a decade later, it took him all the way back to when he’d first met Neil as an impressionable, ignorant, and just plain _stupid_ 6-year-old. Neil had been wild, too, his unbridled fury barely cordoned by the whipcord muscles in his forearms.

He was just stopping by, Neil had told them in a dead voice, he was going to military school in the fall. He straight-up refused to answer any of his parents’ questions about life in Kansas, just said that their grandma – whom he called _Ma_ – was alive and well. Stiles’ parents didn’t have a clue what to say to him, but it sure as heck didn’t stop them, his mum especially, from trying.

His parents’ strained silences hadn’t really affected him back then. Even after Stiles learnt to read social cues, he never really cared for them, learning to recognise them only to bulldoze straight over them anyway. Scott wouldn’t be in the picture for some years yet, and there hadn’t been much else to keep a 6-year-old with ADHD entertained.

A complete stranger bunking on his parents’ couch was like having interactive cable.

In the 3 days that Neil stayed, Stiles barely left his side the entire time. Mum wrote him notes for school, citing a family emergency, and Dad didn’t argue, even if he still went into the station.

To this day he still didn’t know why Neil had put up with him. All Stiles had known was that he suddenly had an older brother, a cool teenaged brother, one Jackson would’ve _pissed_ himself at the sight of, he remembered thinking. It kind of sucked how everyone took him aside – separately, and multiple times – to tell him that he couldn’t say a word about Neil. But Stiles got over it pretty quickly, since he got Neil _now._

He’d dragged Neil into the woods (some things started young) and told him anything and everything he could think of.

“You like to know stuff, huh?” Neil had asked in his low, quiet voice. He’d had an accent, slow and sorta twangy like his mum’s when she got so tired she forgot herself. Stiles liked the sound of it, and even if Neil didn’t talk to his mum and dad much, it made him proud that Neil talked to _him._

“There’re so many things I haven’t learnt yet!” he crowed back, and promptly stuck his foot down a burrow. Neil caught him before the ground caught his face, hoisting him back up again before his hands were gone like they’d never been there in the first place.

Stiles remembered that about Neil, too. He never reached out, but Stiles had blundered into everyone and everything in his usual careless fashion, and Neil had let him.

“It’s not a bad thing to be prepared,” had been Neil’s reply, softer than usual and loaded in a way that had made even his 6-year-old ears ring. Stiles had waited to see if there was more to it, but Neil hadn’t continued and Stiles hadn’t known to ask, so he went off on a tangent about rabbit warrens and fox holes and had Neil read Roald Dahl’s ‘Fantastic Mr. Fox’ everything Dahl wrote was fantastic and the movie had been fantastic but Dad wouldn’t explain all the jokes and oh the bluebird Mum had just bought the Special Edition VHS of ‘Snow White’ if Neil wanted to-

Neil hadn’t, but Stiles made him anyway.

Mum was upset for a while after Neil left, but she got over it, eventually. Stiles should know; he helped. For the next 3 years it was as if nothing had changed; it was as if Neil had never come by in the first place.

Somewhere within those 3 years, he fell in love with Lydia Martin and Jackson pushed him down a hill for it. Stiles got a cut on the back of his head and Jackson was suspended from school and he'd never thought it was fair that he got stitches that itched _and_ hurt while Jackson got a vacation from school.

At the end of the 3rd year, the U.S. military appeared at their doorstep, handed Mum a flag, and told them Neil had been in some far off place called Kosovo on a super secret mission, getting killed in a super secret way in place of his teammates. Stiles was pretty good with maths, when he cared to concentrate. Neil would’ve turned 21 this year, would’ve been legal to drink and vote and all that adult stuff. Instead, he’s dead.

They didn’t hold a funeral, since there wasn’t anything to bury and no one else knew about Neil. Mum reorganised her garden to make room for African violets, for wilderness untamed. When she told Stiles their meaning, he thought they suited Neil much better than girly roses.

He turned 10 the following year and picked up Scott like another stray, like Scott was the brother he should’ve had all along. Scott wasn’t stupid, not really, he just needed someone to point him in the right (or wrong) direction, and pointing Scott in the right (or wrong) direction kept his attention in one place (for the most part), so it worked out alright (sometimes) for everyone involved.

As long as no one ever brought up that time at the grocer’s or the dentist’s or behind the bleachers or the hairdresser’s and _definitely_ not that one time their parents tried to send them off for summer camp.

He never once breathed a word about Neil.

Mum got sick after he turned 11 and was gone before he turned 12. Everyone told him it was just a cold, but everyone was a lying liar who _lied._ Stiles could read the charts, made himself focus on the words so he could memorise them and look them up in the library later. It wasn’t a cold.

But it was slow (not slow enough), and merciless, and unyielding. Mum had got him Garth Nix’s Old Kingdom series for his 11th bithday and he’d already read ‘Sabriel’ and ‘Lirael’ and had wished desperately for a Soapdog to make things better. Mum promised they’d go to the pound once she was better and he had to run away and hide for 2 hours because if Mum was lying about that then what else could she be lying about? Scott found him in the tree overlooking Neil’s African Violets and he’d never wanted someone else to find him so badly before.

The Hale house burnt that year too, but the flame wasn’t white or cleansing and he’d never known fear like that in his whole life. In hindsight, he had to wonder if his choice of reading material hadn’t meant that he’d known, deep down, really.

Neil was 23 when he resurrected himself to them, waiting for them in the hall like how the Abhorsen must’ve waited for Sabriel, dressed in a suit as black as death except not really. There was a subtle texture to the cloth like dots, and his tie was striped black against blacker-black, and his white shirt wasn’t really white, even if the undershirt beneath it was. Stiles focused on all of that and not on the fact that his mum was dead.

But if Neil had been dead but was here now, did that mean–.

“Are you a necromancer?” he demanded. “Or one of the Greater Dead?”

There was this moment where Neil and his dad just stared at each other, then at him, then at each other again before his dad’s face crumpled in on himself as he started to cry again. Neil wasn’t moving, so Stiles had to tackle Dad onto the sofa before he hit the floor. He knelt to see if Dad was alright, only to see that he was crying himself to sleep.

With a sigh, he looked up at Neil and asked, “Can you bring Mum back? Do you have the bells?”

Neil’s face went white and awful, almost ghost-like on top of his pin-neat suit.

“No,” he said, the first thing he’d said to them in 3 years. “No, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Oh,” Stiles replied, small and quiet. Dad was curled up against the sofa arm, so he pushed a cushion into his arms before standing to take Neil’s hand and leading him out back to show him the African Violets.

“Mum planted them for you when we got the news,” Stiles told him, “for Wilderness Untamed.” He hoped Neil could hear the capital letters in his voice, they’d seemed sort of important at the time.

“Do you want to watch ‘The Princess and the Frog’?” Neil asked.

“You brushed up on your Disney,” he replied with a small smile. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but be glad that Neil was trying. So few things made him happy these days that he clung to this one. “Maybe later,” he added, “once Dad sleeps it off a bit.”

Neil moved on his own this time, carrying Dad upstairs to his bed real easy. Stiles was glad for Neil, not because he didn’t appreciate Scott, but because he couldn’t imagine Scott carrying Dad up the stairs even with his help.

There were 21 of them and wasn’t it strange that Neil died the first time when he was 21 and maybe all Stiles needed was a staircase with 40 steps or was it 39 because Mum’s birthday hadn’t passed unlike her but either number was still more fingers and toes than he had but Mum had only been his mum for 12 years but Neil only had her for _3 days_ which wasn’t fair because she was the best mum anyone could’ve ever asked for and it wasn’t _fair_ that he’d only had her for 12 years but it was worse for Neil but then again could you lose someone you hadn’t really known but what about _Dad_ who'd had Mum for however many years and before he knew it, his thoughts had chased themselves all around his head and he was crying again, too.

“Hey, hey, Genim, no.”

He hadn’t noticed when Neil had come back down, but he did notice it when there were hands under his armpits hoiking him up and settling him against a bony hip like he weighed nothing at all. Even Dad struggled to do this nowadays.

Stiles flung his arms around Neil’s neck and tucked his face into that not-white collar that even _smelt_ really expensive and bawled.

Neil didn’t coo or rock him or do any of that baby stuff because he _wasn’t_ a baby (shut up, Jackson), but his arms in their not-black sleeves stayed locked around him like unmovable bars, like they were the only things keeping him from floating away.

When he came back to himself, Neil was settled on the empty sofa with him on his lap, his face quiet and dark and serious. His hair was longer than it had been which made sense ‘cause it had been 5 years but it wasn’t like people couldn’t cut their hair and anyway it looked shorter ‘cause Neil glued it away from his face. He didn’t know how old 23 was but he remembered going to a station barbecue to welcome the newest deputy, Rudy, who was 25, but Neil looked older than that. It was probably ‘cause Neil didn’t smile but when he did he had his mum’s dimples _their_ mum’s dimples and he didn’t want to think about Mum anymore ‘cause it hurt _hurt_ _ **hurt–**_

Stiles didn’t know it at the time, but he was having the first of what would become a very long line of panic attacks. He didn’t even realise he’d stopped breathing until Neil shook him. He stared into Neil’s eyes, darker than his own, the only steady thing left in the world.

“Breathe,” Neil ordered and pulled out a paper bag from his pocket like he was a magician with a white rabbit.

It had to be a magic bag, Stiles decided, since Neil had pulled it out of nowhere and why was there so much air around them but he couldn’t breathe in any of it except for the air in the bag and _it never went empty._ It felt like a cool breeze flowing up his nose and through the rest of his body.

“Maybe you’re not the Abhorsen,” he told Neil, “but you’re magic angway.”

“As long as I’m not an alien,” Neil replied, absently petting him.

Stiles breathed in and out and in and out and the bag crumpled and inflated and crumpled and inflated along with him. He never thought he would like being pet and couldn't help wondering if that made him the Soapdog between the both of them, which would make Neil Lirael.

“Do you have both hands?” he asked. He let go of the magic paper bag with one hand and fumbled for Neil’s hand with his other. He seemed to understand, watched Stiles with bemusement as he rooted around at the cuffs, fumbling at the little silver bars Neil called ‘cufflinks’, pushing the sleeves back as far they could go to make sure there weren’t any secret gears or hinges.

When he was done with the right, Neil just presented him with the left, no waiting or questions about his nonsensical leaps of logic, which pushed him up to #2 in Stiles' book, just beating out Scott (Scott was never bothered by his giant leaps of logic, mostly because he never noticed them, which Stiles would take offence to if it weren’t a fact that Scott barely noticed _anything_ ).

“When I joined the military, I didn’t want to be Neil, either,” Neil began, his voice croaking and hoarse. “Or rather, I didn’t want to give them _Neil,”_ he corrected, “so I made up Arthur, and gave them him instead.”

“Arthur’s not made up!” Stiles protested.

Arthur was Neil’s middle name. Stiles didn’t have a middle name, which he might’ve felt bad about if his first name didn’t make up for all the middle names he could woulda shoulda had and beat them all hands down. He did feel a little bad about Neil, though, because Neil Arthur or Neil+Arthur or even NeilArthur still wasn’t as cool as Genim, even if no one was allowed to call him that.

Neil gave him a long look down the end of his nose, which made Stiles want to flush and look away. This Neil, with the not-black suit and the not-white shirt wasn’t the same Neil who first showed up on their doorstep 5 years ago. But he couldn’t be all Arthur either, even if Neil had given Arthur to the military because the military had said Neil (Arthur) was dead but Neil (Arthur) was right here in front of him and even if Dad and his deputies weren’t military they were _police_ which was the next closest thing and Neil’s hair wasn’t even _close_ to regulation length.

“Okay,” Stiles slowly agreed, thoughts cranking through his head. Was he starting to get it? He wasn’t sure, but he wanted to hear the rest of Neil’s story. He was starting to think that Neil had to tell it, too.

“I gave the military Arthur. I let them shave his head and put him through the 10 rounds of hell they called basic military training without a word of protest, and when they told him to jump he didn’t ask how high, he asked where the hell the goddamned fighter jet was.”

If this had been him and Scott, he would’ve gasped and giggled and squeaked at the swear words. But this was Neil, so Stiles just bit his lip and stared, wide-eyed and a little worried.

“I let them think they had me, when all they had was Arthur instead.”

“No one calls me Genim,” Stiles offered. “They don’t say it right anyway. Everyone thinks my name is Stiles; Genim is Mum’s. And Dad’s. And maybe yours, if you want,” he added, suddenly shy.

Neil smiled, properly, and it was the first time he’d seen it, with both dimples carved deep on either side of his mouth. Mum had laughed so much that even when she hadn’t been laughing her dimples had been there all the time.

“Neil isn’t anyone else’s,” Neil murmured, “but Arthur can be yours, too.”

“But everyone has Arthur!” he complained. There was definitely some whining going on, but he thought it was rather well-deserved seeing how unfair this was – how could Neil get Genim when he wouldn’t get Neil back?

Neil just shook his head, eyes deep and old. Stiles wouldn’t realise it then, but Neil looked just like Dad in that moment.

“Neil shouldn’t have existed. Neil shouldn’t have ever existed.” It took Stiles a moment to realise that the long rolling country accent he’d once shared with Mum wasn’t there anymore.

“No,” he whimpered, reaching up for Neil again, linking his elbows around his neck, “no, don’t say that. Mum planted flowers for you. And I- I’m glad. I’m glad that you’re here.”

Neil’s arms slowly came up around him, those same unmovable bars anchoring him down to Earth. He was grateful…but sometimes he wondered how it’d be to just float right off the Earth and never come back down again.

“Thank you,” Neil murmured into his hair. “And not everyone has Arthur. The military thought they had Arthur, but I’m here, not there. Even when they had _an_ Arthur, it wasn’t _this_ Arthur.” He could feel it when Neil shook his head, right beside his. “I don’t ever want to be Neil again, but I can be Arthur.”

Stiles pulled back a bit to look Neil fully in the face.

“There’s still a little bit of Neil left in Arthur,” he decided. It was in the black suit that refused to be black, the white shirt that refused to be white, the long hair that refused to be long, and most of all, in the spark in his eye, buried so deep in the darkness as to nearly be blinding.

Mum’s eyes had been exactly the same.

Neil snorted. “There you go, then. Not everyone’s going to know that about me. With luck, no one will ever mention Neil again, and if anyone ever mentions Arthur, you’ll always know something they won’t.”

It was enough to make him smile, weak and watery at the edges. “Arthur McCormick,” he said.

Neil shook his head again. “Just Arthur. That’s all I’ll ever be again.”

“Like Madonna and Cher?”

Neil snorted. “You had one free pass to compare me to female pop divas and you’ve already used it.”

“You’re better than Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera since everyone knows _their_ last names,” he pointed out.

Neil ruffled his hair, causing it to fall into his eyes. Mum had always been the one to cut it before, and she always decided how it’d be cut every time. It hadn’t been cut since she’d been admitted to the hospital and it was a bit of a mop now, with his fringe falling past his nose and the ends reaching past his collar.

“Could you shave it?” he asked Neil- asked _Arthur._ “Mum always-.” He bit his lip and decided. “I’m going to be Stiles now. I never really thought of myself as Genim anyway,” he added guiltily.

Arthur was the one who taught him how to hack into the school administration and even the police and federal records to get his name in the database changed from ‘Genim’ to ‘Stiles’. And while they couldn’t do anything about the existing hard copies right now, Arthur also gave him his first set of lockpicks and taught him how to get through a half-dozen locks.

Arthur also showed him how to load the dishwasher and the washing machine and the dryer, how to read the washing labels on clothes, how to make pancakes from scratch and use the oven timer and flip omelettes, even if their pan was too heavy for Stiles to lift on his own right now. Arthur made scrambled eggs by scrambling the eggs in the pan with wooden chopsticks and picked food out of the pots with his fingers to taste while saying, “Fingers are for burning.”

They made sushi rolls that fell apart after one cut because the super didn’t have real sushi seasoning or sushi mats, so they used his mum’s woven placemats and Stiles ended up picking out stale grains of rice from the weave months later.

At the end of the 2nd day, Arthur shaved his head in his parents’ bathroom, surrounded by the smell of his dad’s aftershave, the lingering notes of his mum’s perfume, and the sharp, bright scent of Arthur’s cologne.

Dad worked himself to the bone the whole time (and for weeks months years afterward) and didn’t have 2 words to say to Arthur or Stiles when he was with Arthur. He thought Dad would’ve been glad to see Arthur alive again, but maybe it was because Arthur was alive while Mum wasn’t.

“How did you come back from the dead?” he asked, knees dangling over the edge of the sink. If Stiles was sneaky about it, he could scrounge his toes into the thigh of Arthur’s trousers. Unfortunately, Arthur was really good at noticing his sneakiness and tapped him hard on the head each time his toes crept close.

“Stop that,” Arthur scolded, “you’ll wrinkle them. Also, remember never to piss off the one holding the sharp pointy thing at your head.” He paused, humming thoughtfully before answering his previous question. That was the nice thing about Arthur, too, that no question was too silly or unimportant for him to answer.

“The key to coming back from the dead is to stay alive in the first place,” he replied. “It’s better if you don’t know the details.”

“But I’m not going to tell anyone!” Stiles protested. “I haven’t even told Scott about you!”

Even if that was mostly because he hadn’t seen Scott yet, but it was going to be difficult because there was _so much_ to tell about Arthur, and he always told Scott _everything._

“It’s dangerous,” Arthur said, sounding distracted as he dusted hair off the back of his neck. “I blame the military and the military blamed me. We disagreed, so I left.”

“They told us you died,” he said in a small voice. He hadn’t really understood it at the time, especially since he’d barely known Arthur then (he barely knew Arthur now), but he remembered how upset Mum had been at the news and he was going to have to nip that thought right there in the bud ‘cause thoughts of Mum+Death were going to send him straight into another panic attack (he’d had 7 in the past 2 days).

“Mum was really sad. She planted you flowers because we didn’t have anything else.” He looked up at Arthur as a stray thought crossed his mind. “What do you think of us?” he asked.

He didn’t know what he thought of Arthur. What he _knew_ of Arthur was that he was 12 years older and just 5 years ago Stiles had no idea he even existed. Arthur was so radically different from anyone he’d ever met in Beacon Hills.

“Why did you come back?” he pressed.

Arthur looked just as lost as he felt. “I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t know.”

3 days on and the only times Arthur had left his side were during bathroom trips (and sometimes not even then, not if Stiles insisted). If he ever woke in the middle of the night, terrified of losing someone again, the first thing he’d see was Arthur backlit by the moonlight, his Blackberry in hand. He’d hear Dad’s heavy, raspy breathing from next door as he watched Arthur, watched him become aware of him and meet his gaze in the deep dark (Stiles would only learn of the Endless’ Dream years later).

Comforted, Stiles would close his eyes and fall back to sleep.

Arthur left on the 4th day. His dad was at work, but Stiles would only go back to school the day after. It probably wasn’t the best idea to replace one distraction with another, but his mum was dead and his brother wasn’t, so he rather thought that the time for good ideas was long past.

On the 5th day, Scott did a double-take when he saw him for the first time, which reminded him that Arthur had shaved his head for him. It was freeing, he thought, and recalled the first time he’d seen Arthur-as-Neil, wild and untamed, and buried that image in his heart, with Mum and Genim.


	2. Some Turn to Dust or to Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4 years later, some things have changed. Other things haven't.

4 years later, Stiles was skirting the borders of the Shasta National Forest with Scott looking for his favourite loser’s inhaler when they tripped over a guy that made all the alarms go off in his head. He hadn’t known it as a child, hadn’t known enough about social cues to recognise the signs, but Neil-as-Arthur had been radiating danger the entire time and this new cat, Derek Hale, was exactly the same.

Dad, unsurprisingly, reacted to Derek just as well as he had to Arthur the first (second) time around, if with less hard liquor (Stiles had learnt to be grateful for small mercies). He was markedly less grateful when he was buried up to his elbows in werewolf guts 2 weeks later.

When Derek ‘asked’ if he could trace a text, Stiles spared a moment of regret for not asking Arthur how to do that, but it wasn’t as if mobile phones had been particularly common back then. He didn’t know how to tap phones, either, and put that on his ‘to YouTube’ list in case Arthur never showed again. Besides, after all the grief Derek had put them through, a free (if nonconsensual) show was the _least_ he and Danny were owed.

At 16, he was in way over his head in his very own live-action Twilight, with more werewolves and less vampires. He got his own best friend turned into a werewolf, been nearly arrested 5 times in the past year alone, the girl he’d been in love with since third-grade had completely friend-zoned him and he was okay with that, the person he saw most often these days had a habit of threatening to rip out his throat with his _teeth_ , he’d somehow adopted 7 of his yearmates, and his own dad didn’t trust him anymore.

Unsurprisingly, it was the last one that hurt the most.

He knew better than anyone else just how much he’d lied to his dad over the past 8 months. Maybe if circumstances were different he’d feel more guilty (and he felt plenty already), but he preferred Dad alive and ignorant over dead and knowing. Plenty of things had gone to shit and now that he could actually do something about it, he wasn’t going to give that up for anything. But there was good, too; Dad just wasn't usually privy to it.

He didn’t think he’d changed much over the years, still knew right from wrong, knew better than ever now how easy it was to kill and how much easier it was to die. He wouldn't let Dad get mixed up in this shit. He didn’t understand how Scott let Melissa in.

Of course Arthur chose this moment to roar back into his life.

It had been 4 years since the last time, and firewalls had changed, as had safes and locks and dishwashers. He could flip an omelette for real now, and he made a mean egg-white omelette with capsicum and mozzarella. He still scrambled eggs in a pan with wooden chopsticks and had a (not-so) secret love for sashimi he could rarely indulge ‘cause the pups were all _meatmeatmeat_ and the only half-decent sushi place was all the way in Redding but some days he’d come home to a box of chūtoro in the fridge and-.

It was the little things that made it worth it.

…even if Finstock had caught him swinging his lacrosse stick like a baseball bat the other day and chewed him out for it, and he couldn’t help wondering just how long he’d spent fighting with that thing for it to become second nature.

The pack were on their way out of school when Scott ducked his head with a whine, followed by Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Jackson. Allison, Lydia, and Danny looked just as blank as him.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. The only wolf that wasn’t here was Derek. “What’s happening?”

“It’s Derek,” Isaac whimpered. “Something’s happening. Something’s-!”

They tore across the lot in a well-practiced manoeuvre, Scott into Allison’s and Lydia and Danny’s into Jackson’s and Isaac into his; Erica and Boyd didn't even bother waiting for a car and went dashing straight out of the gate – they would get there faster that way. Stiles just hoped they wouldn’t end up doing anything foolish while they they did.

He couldn’t help but wonder what could get their hackles up like this – Derek was an Alpha now, with a solid pack. He wasn’t the most experienced Alpha but he was still wily, savage, and very, very dangerous. He didn’t like letting his thoughts wander like this. With Adderall, his concentration was better these days, but if his experiences over the past year had taught Stiles anything, it was that he rathered his thoughts remain his own.

He still took the pills because it made Dad happy and if he didn’t it was just one more thing for Dad to worry about, but on bad days he couldn’t help thinking that Mum never made him take the meds because she was there instead.

“Where is he?” Stiles demanded, peeling out of the lot. Jackson might have a hot-shot Porsche but Stiles knew this town like the back of his hand.

“Your house,” Isaac whimpered, clutching at his chest, “hurry, Stiles, he’s _hurting-!”_

He snarled and winged a left, cutting through a grove to land at the end of his street. His tyres squealed as he threw Betsy into park mid-gear on the driveway and he hauled his ever-ready bat out from beside the clutch. He would’ve thrown himself into the house headfirst if Isaac hadn’t grabbed him.

“Just stay behind,” the other boy told him firmly despite the fear in his eyes. “If whatever this is can take out Derek-.”

He spared a moment to be thankful that his dad was at the station and clamped down on all further thought. He heard Erica and Boyd snarling, heard the silenced bullets and pained whines.

He didn't hear Derek.

Isaac and he rounded the corner and froze.

Arthur looked exactly the same as he did the last time he stopped by, if in a different suit. There was an unfamiliar man at his shoulder, the 2 of them working like the gears of a well-oiled machine. Their bullets were just plain old gunpowder, Stiles could smell it, but they were somehow still keeping Erica and Boyd at bay, and Derek was facedown on the ground, blood leaking in a pool around him.

“Oh my god what the hell _Arthur?”_ he shrieked.

Arthur jerked his muzzle up from where he’d pointed it as they’d come in with a frown. “Stiles?”

“What the hell Arthur oh my god,” he moaned, flinging his bat to one side as he slid to his knees to haul Derek up. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god what did you do to him? Derek? Come on, Derek, stay with me-.”

“He wouldn’t stay down,” Arthur complained, sounding grumpy. Stiles bit back the hysterical laughter that was threatening to bubble out of his chest. “Whatever he is – regeneration and rapid metabolism aside – we figured lodged bullets were the only way. I didn’t want him dead yet – not until I knew you and the Sheriff were safe.”

It was a sign of the times that even after that explanation, the last line still made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. Then he processed the rest of the words.

“Wait, _lodged_ bullets? Like they’re still _inside of him?”_ he screeched.

Arthur sighed, having absolutely _no right_ to sound that long-suffering. “I was waiting to check in with you after school. I wasn’t expecting the welcome wagon.” His eyes cut sideways to where the rest of the pack had gathered on the edges of the living room, watching them cautiously.

Allison’s bow was out and pointed loosely at the floor between them, Scott hovering at her shoulder, while Isaac and Jackson prowled around the edges like caged beasts, fangs and claws extended. The only reason why he hadn’t spotted Lydia and Danny was ‘cause the 2 of them were likely waiting for the best moment for an ambush. Then he squinted. Erica and Boyd were walking funny. Arthur noticed him noticing and explained.

“Even if they heal, pain is in the mind. We couldn’t kill them yet, so we went for joints.”

“Oh my god are _those_ bullets still lodged?” Stiles demanded, shoving up Derek’s shirt. He was entirely too relieved to hear the low groan beneath his hands as proof of life. Derek’s chest was a concentrated pulpy mess of mangled flesh and bone and he forced back his automatic gag reflex; it was practically habit by now. If he ever got laid, his partner was going to have one helluva big ‘thank you’ to the pack for that.

“As much as we tried for, yes,” Arthur replied, shrugging gracefully. “They’re your friends, I take it?”

Arthur arched a pointed eyebrow at him and he tried to scowl back through his flush. It wasn’t his fault that Arthur decided to blow back into his life without so much as a by-your-leave and more like 2 full clips. Stiles wouldn't apologise for having friends – a pack – that looked out for him.

Whatever Arthur read in his face made him sigh and relent, leaning over to look at Derek’s wounds. Growls started up from different corners of the room and Arthur’s partner pointedly clicked the safety off his gun.

“Alright, can everyone just stand _down_ before someone _else_ is bleeding out on my welcome carpet?” Stiles snapped out.

“It was ugly anyway,” Lydia retorted as Arthur said, “You were going to change it anyway.” He did _not_ like the way Lydia was eying up Arthur, but was promptly distracted by the way the man pulled out a knife like familiar magic and sunk to his haunches beside him.

“Right,” Arthur huffed, nudging him out of the way and clinically digging out the shrapnel in Derek’s chest, quick and professional.

Stiles floundered about for something to do– digging out shrapnel was usually his job– and settled for petting Derek’s shoulders and head while keeping an eye on what Arthur was doing. It seemed a lot more efficient and painless than the routes he usually favoured. Under his hands, Derek began to twitch, and Stiles clung tighter. If nothing else, he’d get a head start on Derek before he lunged for Arthur again.

“What’s going on, Stiles?” Scott asked, and he hated that he sounded frightened.

“Um. Everyone? This is Arthur and- uh-.”

“Eames,” the man finished for him with a sly smile. He had an English accent and crooked teeth and frankly alarming thighs built like tree trunks; his bulk put even Derek and Boyd to shame.

Arthur sat back on his haunches to look at Erica and Boyd, not a hair out of place apart from the 6” knife in his bloodied hands.

“Do I need to get the bullets out of you 2?” he asked, sounding bored. The knife spun in a blur that spoke _volumes_ about how good he was with that thing. “Wrenched shoulders and shattered kneecaps can’t be fun, even if you do heal faster.”

“Always the kneecaps with you,” Eames tutted. “Dream a little bigger, darling.”

“Your condescension, Mr. Eames, is much appreciated as always,” Arthur replied without missing a beat, his tone suggesting that there was very little in the way of appreciation in his words. Stiles had bigger fish to fry.

Erica and Boyd still weren’t moving and he could see the blood leaking down the side of Boyd’s knee and sometimes Stiles wished he didn’t have the sort of imagination he did because he was already blowing up the entry wound in his mind and he blamed too many midnight marathons of Bones with that 3D reconstructor Angela always used aaaaaaaaaand he was going to stop thinking about blood and bits right about now.

“Guys, it’s okay,” he begged, arms still wrapped around Derek, hauling the Alpha upright so he could settle against his chest. The steady beat of Derek’s heart was oddly calming and he could feel him breathing, in and out and utterly unhurried beside his ear and it was his single point of calm in this whirling sea of confusion. “You can trust Arthur, I swear.”

Erica and Boyd shuffled forward begrudgingly and Arthur set about digging the bullets from their flesh as if he weren’t the one who’d put them there in the first place. Against Stiles' shoulder, Derek started to stir, his head tilting forward enough so that he could feel the man’s hot breath against his face.

“Derek, Derek, it’s okay,” Stiles coaxed, petting the man’s shoulders and arms. The puppies were all a very tactile bunch and Derek’s biggest baddest secret was that he was the worst of the lot. Stiles was just glad Mum had trained him out of that pesky personal bubble issue years ago.

He looked up to see Arthur watching him with an expressionless face.

“Does the- does my dad know you’re here?” he stammered.

Arthur’s (non-)expression didn’t change. “No,” he replied, popping bullets out of Erica’s shoulder and not even flinching when she snarled at him, eyes flaring. “I only came by to check in on you and wasn’t expecting anyone else to be home. I wasn’t planning on staying.”

“So how long can you stay?” he asked, mind racing. Derek let out a groan as he healed a bit more and Stiles tightened his grip on him.

Arthur made a small sound of exasperation as he finished up with Boyd. “Do I need to go through first-aid as well? Field medical? I think the Sheriff would’ve taught you how to shoot.” Arthur narrowed his eyes at him speculatively. “Hand-to-hand?”

He grinned; Arthur knew him so well. “Phone-tapping, too, and how to trace a text.”

Derek chose this wonderfully strategic moment to surge awake. “Who are you?” he growled, half-wolfing out and shoving the bulk of his body in front of Stiles.

“Honestly, Derek, do you listen to a word I say,” he grumbled and manhandled the Alpha aside, taking advantage of his momentary weakness. “It’s okay, everyone’s okay. Arthur didn’t mean to shoot you and Derek didn’t mean to attack you.”

“I did,” they both reply at the same time, Arthur evenly as Derek snarled.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, shoving his way between them again. “The 2 of you- really? _Really?_ Not cool, okay? For one, I don’t have any more welcome mats that anyone can bleed out on. For another, these are my friends, so _no shooting,”_ he told Arthur fiercely. “And that means your friend, too,” he added. “Don’t think I won’t notice you inserting any addendums of your own.”

Arthur held up his hands in mock-surrender, the slightest hint of a dimple showing on his cheek.

“Darling, is that a _dimple?”_ Eames crowed. Arthur’s face immediately turned to stone. “Darling, you never told me you had _dimples!”_

Arthur’s sigh was exasperated, as were his next words: “I will shoot you if you come any closer, Mr. Eames.”

“Who is he?” Derek demanded, from him this time. The Alpha didn’t let go of his arm, clenching a hand in his shirt instead. At least he wasn’t being threatened and thrown into walls anymore – hooray for progress!

“This is Arthur,” he said and then stopped, inwardly flailing, for once at a loss for words.

He didn’t want to claim Arthur as his brother ‘cause Stiles had finally understood that Arthur never really felt like a part of _any_ family so Stiles doesn’t want to pressgang him into his even though he thought his was _fantastic_ and let’s be real here it wasn’t like he actually knew Arthur, despite the kindness the man had shown him in the past ‘cause they’d been around each other less than a week in the past 16 years and he didn’t know what Arthur’s favourite food was or what he did for fun. All he knew was that Arthur used to Neil who used to be dead, and Mum planted African violets in their garden for him.

“I’m a friend of the family’s,” Arthur supplied.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. “But you said it yourself – the Sheriff doesn’t know you’re back.”

Arthur shrugged. “The Sheriff doesn’t like me,” he easily admitted.

“So why are you back now?” Allison asked. Her crossbow was still pointed at the floor, but Stiles knew how good she was with that thing and knew that could change in a heartbeat. Stiles knew what was on her mind: the timing was suspicious, and there were days where she still came to school with red-rimmed eyes.

Arthur and Eames exchanged a look.

“We’ve been out of the country for years,” Arthur began slowly. “We came back to settle some things – get a man back to his children. That put us in Los Angeles for a couple of days. Figured this would be as good a time as any to check in.”

None of the werewolves react which meant Arthur wasn’t lying. Stiles wasn’t dumb, he knew that wasn’t the whole truth, either, but if anyone understood this lying-to-protect-someone schtick, it was him.

“Now,” Arthur continued, and beside him Derek’s hackles started to rise, “you want to tell me what this is all about?”

Arthur sounded _so much_ like his dad that it made him want to _die._

Derek tensed when he did, glaring up at the 2 men with red eyes. Stiles wanted to bury his face into Derek’s nape but doubted the Alpha would appreciate that in front of Arthur and his Eames. All he could do was press his shoulder into Derek’s and draw comfort from the Alpha's overwhelming heat. There wasn’t a change in Derek’s outward posture, but the red slowly bled from his eyes.

“Werewolves? Really, Stiles?” Arthur sent him a flat look and muttered a curse he didn’t think he was meant to hear. It wasn’t in English, anyway. “Does the Sheriff still keep a long-distance rifle? Might as well teach you how to snipe.”

“Who. Are. You?”

Derek’s breathing was steady, but there was a growling undertone to his voice, low and rumbling like a motor in his chest, nostrils flaring and teeth bared. Stiles knew it was only on account of him that Derek hadn’t lost his patience yet.

In contrast, Arthur calmly gazed back, looking bored. Not for the first time, Stiles wondered what was going through his head since his mind always seemed to work on a level different from anyone else he’d ever known.

Mum had loved Arthur, but neither she nor Dad had understood him. Stiles wasn’t naïve enough to think that it was all on them, either, because he saw Arthur stonewall them enough when he was 6-years-old to know otherwise. That he’d brought this man Eames with him this time meant that he’d found someone to trust which made Stiles happy for him ‘cause he got that Arthur’s childhood hadn’t been all sunshine and roses even if no one ever told him anything but he listened _and_ he was good at being in places he wasn’t supposed to be and sometimes that meant hearing things he wasn’t supposed to like how his gran had divorced his grandpa before Arthur was even born and hadn’t been exactly WASP material herself.

Even if he hadn’t heard that he still would’ve known something was up. What sort of mum let her 16-year-old daughter be chased out of her own town, forcing her to leave her newborn baby behind, and then conveniently forgot to contact her afterwards?

So he got that Arthur was doing the lone ranger schtick, even if it was lone-ranger-with-beefy-Brit-companion schtick but what he needed to get through to Arthur was that the pack were _his_ companions. He’d always had Dad, but Mum had been his _world._ When she’d been alive he’d never wanted for anyone else ‘cause she’d always been more than enough for him. After she’d died it’d left behind a gaping hole that was only just beginning to scab over, thanks to the pack.

Dad was Dad, but the pack had become his family. Arthur couldn’t begrudge him this. He _couldn’t._

Arthur sighed, and just like that, the tension seemed to drain from the room. Eames lobbed over a wet cloth for Arthur to clean his hands and knife without any prompting. The blade disappeared somewhere up a sleeve and Stiles wanted to learn how to do that too.

“I’m his brother.”

This announcement was greeted by a flurry of outraged exclamations that made even him wince; he couldn’t imagine what it was like for werewolf ears. Stiles snuck a glance at Arthur, who looked resigned, and Eames, who looked more tickled than anything.

“Did you know?” he asked the Englishman. The wolves quieted long enough to hear his answer.

“Nope!” Eames easily replied. Arthur looked insulted at the very thought that that he would ever let anything slip but before he could speak, he frowned and slipped a hand into his jacket. The pack tensed as one but all Arthur did was produce a cellphone. Eames was watching Arthur too, laughter lighting his eyes.

“When darling Arthur said he needed to do a sit-rep up North, I never imagined it’d turn out like this. But then again, Arthur never chooses the easy way out if he can help it, does he?”

“Your opinion was unsolicited, Mr. Eames,” Arthur retorted, rolling his eyes. He flung the bloody cloth back at Eames for the man to rinse before answering his phone.

“Philly?”

At the sink, Eames snorted, earning himself a glare from Arthur. “God, that sprog has the best timing,” Eames snickered.

Arthur’s glare hadn’t softened one bit, which was kind of freaky considering the words that were leaving his mouth.

“Philly, I can’t come and pick you up right now. Yes, you can complain about him to me, but you still have to ride home with him. Just because I taught you how to build a birdhouse doesn’t mean you can live in- _Philly.”_ Arthur made an irritated noise, covering the mouthpiece as he told him, “I need to take this outside.” He didn’t wait for an answer before heading out into the yard. Derek’s head tracked him unwaveringly, and Stiles could feel more than see Isaac sliding out of sight to follow him.

“You have a brother?” Scott whined. “How come I never knew?”

“Sounds like he’s got other siblings, too,” Lydia added snidely. “Something to share with the rest of the class?”

She was studying him like her new pet project, and Danny’s expression was a little too similar to hers for him to feel comfortable with. Erica looked almost as hurt as Scott, and even Boyd seemed uncertain. Jackson, at least, looked like he couldn’t care less.

Good ol’ Jackson. It was kinda comforting to know that the world could end and Jackson still wouldn’t give a shit about him; a guy needed some constants in the world.

The one he was really concerned about was Derek, though, whose body was still rigid in his arms. Stiles was certain the Alpha was all healed up by now but Derek hadn't made any move to get up, and in all honesty, Stiles was reluctant to let him go.

“It’s not like- I wasn’t- _no one knew,”_ he blurted out, trying not to sound as if he were justifying himself. “It wasn’t meant to be a secret so much as no one ever spoke about it. It’s not like he ever lived here,” he added, cutting off Lydia’s next question. Her teeth clacked shut, pink mouth pursing in a disgruntled moue.

He didn’t say anything about the kid who’d called Arthur ‘cause he didn’t know about them. From the way Eames had spoken, it sounded like the Englishman was more up to date on Arthur’s life, but when he looked at Eames, the man volunteered _absolutely nothing,_ just watched him sputter with cheerful blue eyes. Stiles scowled, and those eyes crinkled into a perfect example of a smize.

“My parents didn’t grow up in Beacon Hills,” he huffed, “and Arthur always had his own thing going on.” He waved his hand in the direction of the yard before returning it to Derek’s arm in case _someone_ got ideas to start mailing people again. Mauling was bad. Bad, _bad_ stuff. “We were- we were just-”

“-2 lost souls living in a fishbowl, year after tear?” Eames finished, a grin overtaking his mouth.

He had to grin back. “A man after my own heart.” Derek snarled, sending Stiles scrabbling over him.

“God, I hope not,” Arthur muttered, thoroughly cleaning off his boots before coming back in.

“Hey, don’t knock the Floyd,” Stiles protested. “That shit is classic.”

“Stiles, your dad is coming up the street,” Boyd abruptly announced. His head was cocked to the side, not unlike a puppy who was trying to hear better. “Apparently, someone called in a disturbance.”

He hissed at Arthur, who just shrugged.

“We already silenced the bullets,” Arthur replied. “It was nigh impossible to tell where the shots had come from.” He bundled up the bloody welcome mat, making sure to keep the soaked centre out of sight. “One of you needs to take this out and burn it,” he instructed. “I’m guessing you lot can move faster in the woods than either of us.”

The pack turned as one to look at Derek before Erica stepped forward, warily taking the mat from Arthur. Boyd and Jackson might be their hardest hitters, but the werewolf wonder twins were faster and wilier than the rest, and Isaac had yet to return.

“Here.”

A metal Zippo followed so quickly even Erica barely managed to catch it, but she was gone in the next heartbeat.

Eames let out a low whistle. “That’s a handy trick.”

“Right.” Arthur went into the kitchen, spilling 'wolves left and right in his wake. “Act normal. Or try,” he added dryly, opening cabinets and tossing things at various people – Derek got a fizzy beer, Scott a mixing bowl, Allison a packet of popcorn, Jackson 2 boxes of low-fat chocolate milk (Lydia wouldn’t ruin her nails _catching)_ , Danny an apple – and he got a box of organic juice.

“Hey-.”

“I don’t want to see you on a sugar high,” Arthur interrupted, and followed the juice box with the house phone. “How much pizza can your lot eat?”

Erica returned just in time to bare her teeth at him. “Is that a challenge?”

Arthur didn’t even blink. “I’m sure we can afford the bill.” He tossed Eames his own beer and had just popped the cap of his own open when Dad came storming through the front door. It was then that Stiles realised he was still lying on the floor with Derek all but in his lap.

“Uh- hi, Dad.”

Thank god the Alpha had been wearing black today - and every other day. 

“Sheriff,” Arthur nodded, gracefully downing a third of his bottle. The rest of the pack called out subdued welcomes of their own. To his credit, Dad had gotten used to his sudden popularity, even if he didn’t know the reason behind it. Instead, his eyes locked onto Arthur and Eames, and held.

“What brought you back?” His dad didn’t sound suspicious, but he did seem cautious.

Arthur shook his head. “Just dropping by to see how Stiles is doing. We won’t be staying long.” He glanced at Eames. “You up for Pradesh?”

Eames grinned. “Darling, you had me at the tropics.”

Arthur turned back to Dad. “We’ll be out of your hair in 2 days at the most.” Dad just nodded back real slow. He didn’t quite seem to know what to say. To be honest, Stiles didn’t either.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, never step into a kitchen again,” Danny muttered, elbowing Allison and Scott out of the way; the mixing bowl of popcorn they’d put into microwave had been _metal._ Stiles glared at Arthur while Eames clicked his tongue.

“Honestly, darling.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I don’t see either of you trying.”

The atmosphere was a little stilted, given how no one seemed to know how much to trust either Arthur or Eames. The pack, at least, was largely taking their cues from him, and if he hadn’t acknowledged Arthur they would have torn them apart. He knew Arthur was a force to be reckoned with and Eames had to be much the same if Arthur trusted him at his back, but he sincerely doubted 2 humans with regular bullets could stand against their whole pack.

He knew others who’d tried – and failed.

Still, if the 2 had managed to keep Derek, Erica, and Boyd at bay without even breaking a sweat, Stiles really didn’t want to think what putting them down would cost their pack. Arthur struck him as a person who melted into the background and was constantly underestimated, despite how you really, really shouldn’t. Stiles should know, having been underestimated countless times by the nasty-of-the-week just because he was human.

It was just easier to give in now and accept that Arthur was back for awhile; it wasn’t like Arthur was the type to get emotionally invested in anything. With luck, he’d finish with what he’d come for and (hopefully) leave without further ruffling feathers.

Stiles raised the house phone. “So…regular orders for everyone?” He jabbed at finger at Dad before he could open his mouth. “You’re only getting veggie, so don’t even try.”

Dad eyed their group with no little suspicion, but didn’t say anything other than, “Call me when the pizza’s here,” stomping up the stairs.

This was only a temporary reprieve, and he knew his dad would grill him once they were alone. Dad had only just gotten used to the pack hanging around, so Stiles wasn’t going to push it. He'd lied to him so often and for so long that he refused to do this for anyone else, even Arthur.

Besides, he figured he could use his dad’s help if things with Arthur got hairy (pun not intended). Arthur wasn’t a rival pack that they could fight into submission – he was human, and things with the Argents were one spark short of a wildfire. He was almost certain Dad wouldn't need any excuse to run Arthur out of town if things came down to that.

“We’ll take the second bedroom,” Arthur said. “We’ve already eaten anyway.” He pulled out a few bills from a money clip and tucked them into the pocket of Stiles' hoodie before nodding in their general direction. “Mr. Eames.”

“Coming, dearest,” the Englishman purred, pushing upright from where he’d been lounging against the kitchen counter. The smirk spread across his generous mouth was salacious. “I’ve always wanted to say that to you.”

He could practically hear Arthur rolling his eyes, although there wasn’t a verbal reply.

The whole pack held their collective breaths until 2 doors pointedly slammed shut before descending on him like, say, a pack of wolves.

“What the hell was that, Stiles?”

“A brother? You never told me you had a brother!”

“Is that English dude like, a cousin, or something?”

“What the hell, man?”

“Where’s the family resemblance?”

“Damn, Stiles, your brother got all the hotness genes in the family.”

“Just- just put a lid on it for a sec, alright?” he hissed, ducking behind Derek’s very useful bulk, ignoring the way the Alpha growled at him for it. “Let’s try to remember that I was just as surprised by the rest of you to see him.”

“Maybe, but you weren’t surprised _by_ him,” Lydia pointed out.

Stiles threw his hands up and nearly smacked Scott on the knee.

“Arthur was in the military, alright?” he snapped. “He was in some super secret ninja squad when they told us he died, only for him to show up after my mum’s funeral very much _not_ dead and all like, “Yeah, so the U.S. military happened; fuck them,” _so forgive me if I don’t talk about him a lot!”_

His chest was heaving by the time he was done. Derek, predictably, ignored everything he’d just said and growled, “He knows about us now. Him and his…partner.”

“They were _so_ gay for each other,” Erica giggled.

“Is there a problem with that?” Danny asked archly, Jackson looming menacingly over his shoulder.

“Oh, shush, you know Erica doesn’t have a brain-to-mouth filter and it wasn’t like she meant it that way,” Stiles dismissed, waving away her indignant hiss. “Besides, I don’t think Arthur is, like, sexual, at all, and oh my god why am I even speculating about his sexuality?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Because that’s totally the most important thing right now.” He pinned him with a glare, eyes flashing gold. “Well, Stilinski?” he demanded. “Are we ripping out anyone’s throat?”

When Stiles’ brain finally rebooted from the panic mode it was currently in, he’d muse about why Jackson was asking this of him instead of Derek, even if Arthur was nominally his brother.

But until then, blind panic was serving him fairly well.

“Oh my god, we are _not_ murdering my brother and his partner in my house!” he whisper-shrieked. “Especially not with my dad in the neighbouring room, what the hell is wrong with you!” He ignored Jackson’s sniff and turned back to Derek. “Look, it was unexpected for you and unexpected for me and then there was that whole issue with being shot, but they weren’t _actually_ trying to kill you, and all they wanted was to check up on me. Whatever the hell that means.”

“He wasn’t lying,” Scott added grudgingly, “when he said that. I don’t- it didn’t smell like the whole truth, but he wasn’t lying about checking in with you.”

Erica looked up from where she’d been studying her claws, leaning into Boyd’s chest. “Neither of them smell of hunter. I went into their room while you were talking, and there wasn’t anything supernatural about it.” Traps or paraphernalia, she meant. “And none of their bullets are wolfsbane.” Her eyes glowed like lamplight in the dusk.

Stiles drew in a deep breath and looked down at where Derek was propped against his shoulder. Maybe a traditional Alpha wouldn’t have stood for this, being on the ground while their Betas towered over them – maybe because he was still recovering from having been shot, Arthur having removed far more bullets from Derek than either Erica or Boyd – but there was nothing traditional about their pack.

“If you want him to leave, all you have to do is say the word,” he said. “I’ll go right up and tell them. My dad will be more than glad to back you up on that,” he muttered, glancing away.

Derek touched his chin with a knuckle, urging their gazes to meet. He blinked back at Derek as the man stared at him for a good long while.

“I don’t want them anywhere near us,” he eventually rumbled, “and they’re to be watched at all times. If anyone hears or sees or smells anything – _anything_ – you report it immediately.”

Stiles sighed, sagging into Derek’s broad back. He knew what that meant. “Slumber party in the woods tonight?”

Derek looked entirely unsympathetic. “And tomorrow.”

“My back’s going to kill me,” he muttered.

“Oh, poor baby,” Jackson jeered, only for Lydia to whack him with her handbag, which sent him whining to Danny. The boy dimpled, but when Lydia sent him a sharp glance, he also smacked Jackson on the side of his head.

The doorbell rang. Derek obligingly shifted and Stiles pushed upright with a groan, heading for the door.

“It’s the pizza,” Scott whimpered, practically salivating. Isaac, dogging his footsteps after returning from trailing Arthur in the yard, wasn’t much better. Stiles snorted at their faces and had them bring the boxes in while he sorted the bill. He still had the bills Arthur had given him, but startled when he pulled them out only to see Ulysses S. Grant after Ulysses S. Grant staring back at him.

What the absolute hell. He remembered Arthur’s money clip; there was a lot more where that came from.

“Okay,” Stiles said faintly, and took a twenty from the change to tip the boy.

He followed the noise into the kitchen to see that someone had called his dad down for pizza. There was a crust already on his plate, which made Stiles hiss as he pointedly pushed the veggie pizza in front of him. Dad shot him a long-suffering look.

“So, Stiles.” That faux-casual tone set his teeth on edge. “Arthur dropping by to check on anything in particular?”

“I haven’t been in contact with him, if that’s what you’re asking,” Stiles snapped back, before relenting and combing his fingers through his hair. “He said he was here for me. The last time I saw him was- well, you know.”

Dad’s gaze dropped. “No one saw him or his man entering town.” Not that it was a priority, but it was kind of a relief to know that Arthur’s sexuality or lack thereof wasn’t a concern.

“We can look into it,” Derek volunteered, causing him to choke on a mouthful of meat lover’s. Despite how Derek _never_ volunteered anything, he still had the gall to look annoyed at Stiles’ surprise. Besides, what Derek wasn’t saying was that if Arthur had brought additional attention into town (read: hunters), it was best that they knew about it sooner rather than later.

It wasn’t like they could count on Chris Argent to open his mouth till Allison was in the firing line, and as much as Stiles resented Gerard, Kate, and Allison’s own actions after Victoria’s death, he didn’t wish her dead. It had taken them entirely too long to get over the events of the time, Erica and Boyd especially (not that Stiles blamed them), and even now Allison still tiptoed around them, unsure of her welcome.

“I didn’t say a thing,” Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes as he wolfed down another slice.

Dad just frowned. “I don’t want you kids getting involved in anything.”

Stiles snickered at Dad including Derek under the ‘you kids’ comment and got an unimpressed side-eye from their resident sourwolf.

“It’s fine,” Lydia said breezily, stealing Jackson’s plate and sliding into his lap. Dad was watching them like they were a Nat Geo special. “Arthur’s hot and if there’s one thing high-schoolers keep an eye out for, it’s eye candy.”

Stiles immediately started choking at the thought of Arthur as _eye candy._ Danny smacked him so hard on the back he nearly regurgitated a piece of sausage straight across the table.

Dad wasn’t much better, pulling odd faces at the thought of anyone making eyes at Arthur. Still, the fact that he didn’t object to Lydia’s suggestion meant that 1) he still remembered Mum’s lessons on not fighting a losing battle, and 2) he definitely thought that Arthur was trouble.

“But there’s nothing out of the ordinary?” Dad pressed, eying him.

“No,” he replied truthfully, “nothing at all. In fact, it’s been a little on the quiet side.”

Dad’s face darkened. “I think you kids could use a little downtime after…everything.”

He couldn’t bring himself to meet his dad’s accusatory gaze, and Dad didn’t even know half of it; he’d seen the bruises after the lacrosse game but didn’t know how they’d gotten there. He hadn’t even solved Laura’s murder, and still didn’t know that hadn’t even been where it had started, let alone ended.

Stiles glanced at his gathered pack, from Scott to Allison to Isaac to Erica to Boyd to Danny to Lydia to arsehole Jackson to their Alpha, who was practically chuffing over his shoulder. He hadn’t even realised how close Derek had drifted to him until he felt the heat radiating off him.

It had taken them so long and so much to get here. Would he change anything? A thousand things, a million things. But he couldn’t regret who was here with him, now.

That night, after his Dad had gone to bed, they took to the woods, Scott, Lydia, Erica, and Danny firing questions left, right, and centre about Arthur as he did his best to answer and not trip over an exposed root and break his nose.

After he tripped for the second time, Derek made an irritated noise and snagged him by the elbow.

Stiles grinned sheepishly up at him. “Oops,” he said.

Arthur was 12 years older than him- _no,_ they hadn’t grown up together, he’d already said that. He didn’t know what Arthur did except for that ninja stint with the army, so _stop asking me that, Lyds,_ the answer wasn’t going to change no matter how many times you ask! Eames was a complete mystery to him; he’d never met the man before in his life. He had no idea how Arthur and Eames could have gotten into Beacon Hills without anyone noticing them.

However, now that the pack knew their scent, Boyd and Jackson had gone off to track their route in. It turned out they’d parked their rental in the street over, at the back of a house that’d been on sale for the longest time, hidden under some brambles. From the outside, the house still looked untouched. If they hadn’t been 'wolves and hadn’t followed the scent trail, they would never have thought to look there. Arthur and Eames hadn’t gone into town at all, had just snuck straight into his house through back paths that hinted at a creepy familiarity with his part of town.

Scott was still hurt, though, and the questions always came back down to why he’d never mentioned Arthur before.

“He’s not someone I wanted people to know about just for kicks, Scott,” he finally snapped back, the anger in his voice sending Scott skipping back a step. “Even my _dad_ thinks he’s dangerous. He’s showed up 3 times in the last 16 years to teach me how to circumvent the law, or whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

Scott’s pouting face told him he thought that it was, but Allison put a hand on his arm and Scott immediately melted into a puddle of goo. For once he was grateful that Scott wasn’t capable of thought as long as Allison was in the vicinity.

“He’s dangerous,” Derek rumbled from his other side, continuing to tug him along. Stiles wilted, swallowing harshly. He knew he’d said much the same earlier, but he really didn’t want to see Arthur clash with the pack.

“Not- I don't think, not to us,” he blurted out.

Boyd and Jackson loped up just then, having taken point on either of their flanks.

“There are humans coming,” Boyd reported, Beta eyes flaring. “They’re not local.”

Jackson glared at him. “Also, your _brother_ and his little friend aren’t in the house anymore.” He snarled. “We would’ve gone after them-.”

“But reporting back was more important,” Boyd cut in smoothly, unmoved by Jackson’s ire.

The bottom of his stomach dropped. Arthur couldn’t have had anything to do with this. He _couldn’t._

“If they’re hunters, you guys better be ready to run,” he said, steeling himself.

“Oh, don’t be an idiot,” Lydia dismissed as Derek glowered at him in agreement.

“We don’t need this right now,” he snapped back, “right _ever!”_

Isaac tugged Scott and Allison backwards as Boyd and Erica started to melt back into the forest with Jackson, gradually spreading out on either side to flank the incoming hunters. That left Lydia, Derek, and him in the spotlight, huddled together – wait, where did Danny-.

“Look’ee ‘ere what we’ve found,” one of them called out to the other, telling everyone and their mother of their positions. Stiles didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes rolled, despite Lydia digging her elbow into his ribs. They couldn’t be more stereotypical villains if they tried. He didn’t know what kind of bravado they were on, given how there were just 2 of them against a whole pack.

“You’re trespassing on private property,” he called out, crossing his arms. Beside him, Derek snorted. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Well, I don’t give a shit what you want,” the other arsehole shot back and held up a gun. Good lord, it was a revolver – a _rusty_ revolver; this was beyond pathetic. A part of him wondered if he’d been held at gunpoint so often that he didn’t even get the shakes anymore. Still, Derek pushed in front of them both – really, Derek? _Really?_

Talkative sneered at Derek and mockingly cooed, “Aww, look’it, Fain, innit cute?” Stiles and Lydia exchanged a despairing look behind Derek’s back; this was honestly embarrassing.

Derek, the idiot, obviously didn’t see the hilarity of their situation since he was puffing his chest out, herding him and Lydia behind him and _giving those shitty hunters a larger target, Christ._

Stiles tightened his fingers on Derek’s shoulder, feeling the Alpha tense beneath his grip.

Of course this was when Arthur chose to announce his presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised that I didn't give any sort of update schedule. I'm not certain about the total number of chapters since I wrote this as a whole block, but we're reaching the midway point after this, and I don't post WIPs; it's just the editing to plough through. Cheers!


	3. But You Will Remember Me

Stiles stared as Arthur strolled into the clearing, Eames at his shoulder like they were out for some sort of jolly ol’ nightly jaunt or some shit. He was starting to think the man had a very bad tendency to show up where he was least expected and, dare he think it, most needed.

But Derek only grew tenser under his fingertips and a horrific thought occurred to him.

_What if Arthur set this all up?_

It was like an entire set of dominoes just waiting to fall, and they were all already lined up along the edge.

Arthur drew all of their attention when he appeared, including Arsehole’s gun. The wolves must have heard them coming a mile away, even if Stiles hadn’t heard a thing.

“What the hell is wrong with you, taking aim at a bunch of a kids?” Arthur demanded irritably, not even pretending to be bothered by the gun pointed his way. Jackson and Boyd had taken the distraction to vanish among the trees.

Stiles let out a soft sigh. If Arthur was stepping between the pack and the hunters, maybe this meant that this was just a matter of really, _really_ bad timing. He also found it a little discriminatory, given how the hunters weren’t even entertaining the thought of Arthur being a ‘wolf. A suit couldn’t be all it took to throw the scent off – could it?

Arsehole was hesitating now, the muzzle of his gun drooping.

“Hey, dude, you gotta be from outta town,” Talkative said. Now that was just stating the obvious, but did that mean these 2 were from _in_ town? “They ain’t kids, man, they stone-cold killers. They don’t lookit, but it true.”

Erica didn’t bother holding back a snarl. Stiles couldn’t facepalm, but he could let his brow thump heavily on Derek’s shoulder. He didn’t even have to look up to know Arsehole’s gun was pointing her way now. He’d bet those bullets weren’t even wolfsbane.

“See, man?” Talkative wheezed, sounding exhilarated. “See what I tol-!”

He looked up just in time to see Arthur shoot Talkative right in the head, having already dropped Arsehole, not even having the decency to rock with the recoil.

“What an utter waste of time,” Arthur muttered, checking the safety before slipping his gun back into his jacket. He turned to Derek and asked. “And you’ve been dealing with these pieces of shit for how long now?” Then he sighed, because of course that was when his phone chose to go off, the vibrations audible in the sudden silence.

“Philly, do you know what time it is?” Arthur asked, deadpan. Stiles just stared down at the 2 dead hunters, itty bitty little holes dead-centre in their heads leaking a touch of blood. Their abrupt death had shocked Boyd and Jackson out of hiding, and there was a faint scuffle as Eames procured Danny from where he’d been behind a tree from where he'd been trying to circle them.

“It was bedtime an hour ago. Do you want me to call Marie-.” Arthur clucked his tongue. “Yes, we both know he’s useless at enforcing anything even remotely resembling discipline, which is why I said I’d call Marie. No, you can complain about it tomorrow. Go to sleep, you need to grow. You don’t want to be shorter than him all your life, do you? Okay. Alright. Goodnight.”

“What the hell, man?” Stiles screeched the moment Arthur disconnected the call. He gestured between Arthur and Eames and the 2 dead bodies between them. “What the absolute hell- what are you even doing, man?”

Arthur met his gaze evenly, flicking to the side to meet Derek’s certainly red-eyed glare before focusing on him again.

“Like I said, I came back to check on you.” Arthur exhaled heavily, slotting his phone back into his pocket. “I’ve been keeping tabs, alright? Excuse me if I didn’t like the exponentially increased body count from _animal attacks._ Since I finally got back stateside – it seemed like a good enough time as any. I’m sure you lot are more than capable of handling said ‘animal attack’s,” Arthur finished mildly, “but I wanted to make sure of it myself.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just prance in here and kill people willy-nilly!” he snapped back. “There are _consequences_ to _killing people,_ in case you haven’t noticed, and these are _hunters.”_ He huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Even if Chris Argent keeps letting them waltz into our territory like-.”

Arthur turned unerringly to pin Allison with his gaze. “Is that man even aware of what these hunters are doing while you’re out here with the pack?”

Someone had done his research like a good little boy. Allison flushed darkly, hands tightening on her crossbow. Scott snarled, taking one menacing step forward.

“Leave Allison out of this!”

Arthur didn’t even bother looking at Scott. “I don’t care whose fault it is. Either she’s not telling him what these hunters are up to, or these hunters aren’t telling him what they’re looking for, or-.” He paused and pursed his lips, tapping them in thought. “Any theories, Mr. Eames?” he asked.

Stiles started at the segue. Up till then, Eames had been languidly leaning against the very same tree he’d ejected Danny from, only pushing upright at Arthur’s voice. It was a luxurious, relaxed action, pulling his shirt taut across his chest, his trouser seams straining against those tree trunks masquerading as thighs.

He couldn’t help _looking,_ not if Eames was going to put himself on display like that. A glance sideways told him Danny and Erica weren’t looking much better, and while Boyd just seemed resigned, Jackson’s expression was definitely more disbelieving.

“Funny you should ask, darling,” Eames rumbled in that accent of his, a smile curling at the edges of that mouth. “What it looks like is wilful ignorance in the hopes that someone will get lucky and break this happy family so that their lost little lamb can find her repentant little way back into the fold.”

Allison flinched as if the words were a physical blow and it was telling that no one was saying anything in Chris’s defence. Scott couldn’t mount a cohesive argument to save his life but even Lydia was silent now, watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes. Before, there had always been someone willing to spare their feelings, willing to redirect the conversation to a safer topic.

But Stiles wasn’t going to kid himself to think that Arthur gave 2 shits about anyone other than him; they were eerily similar that way. Just a year ago Stiles would’ve seen both Derek and Jackson hang for what they’d done without even blinking. He and Arthur both cared about who they cared for, and the rest of the world could burn.

If Chris Argent weren’t Allison’s parent – her _last_ remaining parent – Stiles would’ve killed him himself. As things were, he was practical enough to be grateful for this catalyst for catharsis. This whole problem would have erupted sooner or later – had already been simmering for the longest time, and it was just their luck that the situation was kind've salvageable.

“Well, fuck,” Boyd said succinctly, shattering the prickling tension.

Eames was the first one to break, chuckling lightly. Allison let out a loud sob and Scott tucked her under his arm, Isaac nuzzling close on her other side. Erica didn’t bother holding back her mirth and Danny flashed his dimples, gently nudging Jackson.

“We’re doing our best, okay?” Stiles sighed, leaning into Derek’s warmth. “We’ve been trying to make this truce with the Argents work. As long as they’re the biggest bad in all of hunterdom, they’re still the lesser of two weevils.”

Arthur pulled out his phone again, glancing down at the screen with an arched brow. “The lesser of two evils?” he repeated, scrolling through whatever he’d read on his phone. “How sure of that are you?”

Fear shot down his spine like a bolt of lightning. Arthur didn’t know about Gerard. He _couldn’t._ Even his dad and his pack didn’t know the full extent of his time under Gerard’s hands, Erica and Boyd having only caught the barest of glimpses. Stiles made damn sure no one saw the night terrors, the way the man’s words still reverberated in his head, triggering panic attacks so bad he’d nearly blacked out.

Stiles knew himself inside and out, knew that his body could heal, that it would heal. Even if it wouldn’t – and this was a question that had come up before – as much as he liked his humanity, he didn’t think there was much of a trade-off when it came to staying with Dad and his pack. But Gerard had played a smart game and try as he might, some of those barbs had burrowed under his skin and lodged themselves deep, tearing through his self-esteem and straight into his heart.

He only realised his breathing was getting harsher when Lydia dug her nails into his skin, even as Derek leant back into him and took deliberate, exaggerated breaths. Gradually, the tightness in his lungs began to subside as he slumped into Derek’s bulk, breathing in his familiar scent.

“He’s gone,” Stiles rasped, hating the way his voice faltered midway.

Arthur looked unconcerned. “For now,” he said. “There’s nothing stopping him from coming back to finish the job. The video Gerard sent was only a small clip, you know,” he continued, not even having the decency to look them in the eye as he stole all their breaths. “They taped every basement session.”

The offhand way Arthur said it made it sound like some cool underground music scene thing – at least until he processed the words and wanted to kill Kate Argent all over again. The entire pack recoiled in understanding as Stiles met Erica and Boyd’s eye and struggled to breathe. They knew they hadn’t been the only ones, but it was starting to sound like they were the only ones who’d managed to get away.

Allison staggered forward, her face white as death. “Ho- how,” she stammered. “How- how could they-!”

Arthur glanced up at her, coolly amused. “Oh, I’m quite sure you know how.” Isaac let a snarl rip out of his throat, not that Arthur seemed to care. “It’s all up on the family server, very neatly catalogued with last names, geotags, and dates. I know several police departments that could close a few cold cases with them.”

Allison’s knees buckled. Scott dived to catch her, his whines pained as he nosed at her neck. Allison was shaking, her shoulders buckling, and the sobs that rose from her chest were dry and pained.

Lydia hissed at him, and Stiles realised Derek’s claws were out, digging into his thighs.

“Hey, hey, no, Sourwolf,” he crooned, stepping right into Derek’s back, wrapping his arms around him so he could tease those claw-tips out of his flesh. It was an entirely too intimate a position to be in, but there was nothing even remotely sexual about it. Derek was practically a block of ice in his arms, unmoving and barely even breathing, and even his ever-present ‘wolf heat seemed to be leeching out of his skin.

Stiles massaged the back of Derek’s hands, hooking his chin over the man’s shoulder to wrap himself as far around him as he could.

That left Lydia free to turn her attention back to Arthur.

“That doesn’t change the fact that if the Argents disappear, someone else will just fill that vacuum, and who’s to say they won’t be worse?” Her chin was lifted, voice firm, but this close to her, Stiles could see the very fine tremble of her fingers.

“The devil you know instead of the devil you don’t?” Arthur hummed, exchanging a glance with Eames. “Well, that just won’t do at all.”

“He’s my _dad.”_ Allison sounded utterly heartbroken, and the whine in her voice set his teeth on edge. “He’s still my _dad.”_

And therein lay the crux of the situation with setting up a pack so close to home: there was just no end to their soft underbelly. If Derek were any other Alpha – if Derek were _Peter_ – this would never have been a problem.

But because their Alpha was Derek, _Derek,_ who understood better than anyone else the importance of family and how imperative that they never lose it, because if they did, they’d lose their tenuous hold on humanity. It was why Derek had tolerated Peter for so long, why he’d done nothing when Isaac had killed his own father in self-defence, why he was so lenient with both Stiles and Scott and their single-parent households. As callous as he could be, Derek would never take Chris Argent from Allison, not when she loved him so, especially after Victoria’s death.

(Even if Stiles had secretly cheered the woman’s death in his mind ‘cause the woman had been creepy as fuck and not to mention, horrifically racist and batshit _insane,_ he did have enough empathy to wish Allison hadn’t had to go through with it (even if Allison had _also_ gone batshit insane after that.))

“Arthur,” he swallowed, “we can’t- we just _can’t.”_

The man made an impatient noise as he finally made to put his phone away, only for Eames to make a little interested hum as he stepped forward, checking him lightly on the hip. Arthur rolled his eyes at him and looked to pass him his phone, only for Eames to take the phone, wrist and all, to read whatever was on the screen.

“I didn’t say I was going to kill Chris Argent,” Arthur explained, casting an irritated glance Eames' way. “I'm going to break him.”

The ease with which Arthur said that was…thrilling as much as galling. Stiles had seen Chris Argent in action. He was certain Arthur had done his research, had assessed the man and found him wanting, and that he still delivered his pronouncement so baldly spoke whole books about his confidence. Stiles had always been drawn to competence, and Arthur had it in spades. 

But it was galling, too, because this was _his_ pack, and Arthur might have been his brother, but he wasn't _pack._

“You can’t do that!” Scott squawked. Allison looked horrified. She’d always been so brave and headstrong, their fierce warrior princess, and it hurt something in his chest to see her like this. But the rest of the pack stayed pointedly silent, even Lydia, who had reached for his hand and had yet to let go, and Isaac, where he was wrapped around Allison’s other side. 

Arthur continued as if Scott hadn’t spoken. “Gerard Argent is fair game, at least?” He didn’t bother waiting for a reply before nodding decisively. “I’m going to bring back his head.” He turned and loped off, Eames at his shoulder. Arthur paused at the fringe of the clearing, and Stiles could feel tension racketing his spine tight again. He wished he could read the expression on Arthur’s face.

“It might help to know that there weren’t only videos taken in the Argent basement,” Arthur called back. “There were other basements, too.”

Stiles threw himself to the side and was on his knees before his mind had even caught up with his body, retching out every last bit of food he’d eaten today. God, that was – sick didn’t even begin to cover it. He’d done his research on the Hales after their first run-in with Derek: a whole family of 10, even without the extended family who’d been in town to visit, and both Peter and Derek had said they hadn’t all been 'wolves.

There had been humans in the mix too, human mates and human children; Derek’s youngest sister had only been 6-years-old, and _someone_ had been sick enough to film her being burnt to death with the rest of her family.

He wished Kate Argent weren’t already dead. He’d kill her again himself just for that.

Danny was the one who drew close, handing him a half-empty bottle of water to rinse his mouth with. Stiles didn’t have to ask what happened to the other half, not with Danny’s pallor and damp chin. He took the bottle with a nod of thanks, taking a large gulp to gargle and spit, managing to squeeze out another gulp before pouring the rest of it on the ground to douse the smell. It was sour and pungent even to his human nose, he couldn't imagine what it smelt like to the 'wolves.

“Thanks, man,” he croaked. One side of Danny’s mouth twitched up and he offered him a hand to haul him upright, pulling him towards the rest of the pack.

They were hovering around Derek– not like they were uncertain of their welcome, but- Stiles understood it immediately when all of them turned to look at him.

“Yeah,” he muttered, striding forward to the heart of them, “yeah.”

Derek was still where he'd seen him last, utterly rigid with an ashen cast to his face. Lydia glanced at him, worry plain on her beautiful face. Derek’s claws were out again, rending the thighs of his jeans, and his eyes were red with more than the Alpha power.

“Derek,” Stiles tried, and his voice broke. He reached out, fumbling for the man’s wrist, his fingers clumsy and nearly sliding off his skin before he firmed his grip.

“Derek,” he tried again, stepping right into the Alpha’s space. “Derek,” he said for the third time, one hand still on the man’s wrist while the other slid up to his shoulder, just skirting the line of his throat before he rubbed at the ball joint, not missing Derek’s hitching breath before Stiles’ hand moved to his back, petting a shoulder blade that felt sharp enough to slice through cloth and leather before settling on his neck, stroking gently.

Derek’s hands came up uncertainly, still clawed and blood-tipped to settle on his hips, and Stiles stepped even closer, leaving no space between them as the man's head drooped, forehead settling on his shoulder.

Slowly, achingly, creakingly, the rest of the pack drew close, tenderly wrapping him and their Alpha up in a massive standing puppy pile. Lydia was closest, tucking herself up against his side as Jackson stepped forward, flanking both her and Derek and pulling Danny in with him. Erica burrowed herself into their other side, Boyd spreading out with his immense reach to encompass them all.

Isaac was the one who nudged Allison and Scott along, the girl looking at the pack with plain longing and uncertainty.

“Come on, you,” Stiles beckoned, lifting one arm to drag Allison in, causing her to bump into Lydia with a _meep!_ Lydia sent him a blistering look before turning her nose up with a sniff, taking both of Allison’s arms and wrapping them around her waist.

“Gerard is rabid,” he thought aloud, “feral. He knew what Kate was planning when she- when she- yeah,” he finished lamely. There was never going to be a sensitive way to bring up the cold-blooded meditated murder of nearly 20 of their pack. Even if none of them had known the Hales when they were alive, Derek carried them with him like an enormous chip on his shoulder that none of them could forget about, as if living in the burnt out ruins of their house wasn’t reminder enough.

“Mr. Argent didn’t know about Kate,” Danny said tentatively, “or Gerard.” Not that that excused any of the actions Chris had taken against their pack since – not as bad as his father or sister, but this wasn’t really the type of competition anyone should win. Still, this was a small concession in the grand scheme of things, especially after Allison’s agreement to give up her grandfather to the pack’s vengeance. Despite his actions, Gerard was still her family and she’d loved him once, maybe even still did.

Lydia looked up at Allison, whose face was blotchy and tear-stained. 

"Allison?" 

"I- I-." 

"I need to hear the words, Allison," Lydia said very softly, not that it helped with all the 'wolf hearing about the place. Scott made a hurt noise from where he'd buried his face into her neck, almost as if he were doing all the emoting for her. 

Allison swallowed. Isaac stroked a hand down the back of her arm and she shivered, huddling closer. "Yes," she breathed, the word more air than sound. 

"Allison?" 

"Yes," she grated out. 

"Okay," Stiles said faintly, "he needs to be put down." He looked across the clearing to where Arthur still stood, blended in with the shadows, waiting for their decision. He knew what Arthur meant when the man tipped up his chin, eyes searching. Even if the final blow came from Arthur, it was the pack loading the bullet, pulling the trigger.

And among the pack, Stiles was the one who’d pushed the subject first.

He wasn’t a stranger to death or murder, especially when his ‘initiation’ into the pack involved both and a horrifying attempt at dismemberment. The stakes had only grown higher as their pack had grown larger, and in that time they’d gotten to know and grow into each other; killing to protect a packmate had never been a question.

But this was something completely different.

They had weighed Gerard Argent and found him wanting. Stiles very carefully did not think about how the man and his daughter might have done the exact same thing to the first Hale pack, all those years ago.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth – this was the mantra Stiles chose to live by. They weren’t asking for more than they were owed; in fact, Stiles rather thought that they were asking for far less – one man’s death didn’t erase the pain caused by almost 20 others. Neither was he naïve enough to think that there wouldn’t be repercussions from this, even if Allison was more firmly entrenched with them now than ever.

(If Stiles also had a list of the hunters involved in the Hales tragedy – well, that was his business, and maybe Arthur’s, if he could get the man on his own (yes, he realised that possibly getting his maybe-hitman ninja brother to do the pack’s dirty work was kind of a little not right, but they were so long past not right that this barely even blipped on the radar.))

Stiles met Arthur’s questioning gaze and nodded firmly.

“Leave the bodies,” Arthur instructed. “We’ll take care of them.” In an eyeblink he was gone, Eames blending into his shadow as the 2 men vanished into the forest, soundless to his useless human ears. Stiles didn't bother to watch them go. Besides, it wasn’t as if he didn’t have bigger fish to fry, most importantly one Alpha brought abruptly back to the cruelty of his family’s deaths.

“Hey there, Sourwolf,” he said softly, not even bothering with useless platitudes because nothing about this was okay or alright, not when they were just a bunch of ragtag partly supernatural teenagers reluctantly led by an emotionally crippled orphan. His hand on the back of Derek’s neck moved to his nape, scratching lightly at his soft hair.

Derek made a sound against his shoulder but it wasn’t a growl, so he took that and ran with it. Actually, it didn’t sound too different from the whimpers the pups at the pound made when he rubbed their bellies while waiting for Scott to finish up his shifts with Deaton. Stiles bit back a giggle at the thought ‘cause this totally wasn’t the time and just tucked Derek even closer to him, settling into a real hug this time.

“We’re here, okay? Your pack. It’s not the same,” he swallowed, licking his lips as Derek breathed heavily into his neck, “but it’s still pack, and it’s yours, and it’s here.”

Derek dragged his face up, lips and stubble raking across his throat, and his eyes caught on Allison. She flinched back and almost immediately looked just as wrecked as she had at the start of all this.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so- _eep!”_

Derek didn’t even bother with words before pulling her in, jostling Lydia again. The redhead let out a hiss, only settling down when Allison tightened her arms around her waist, nuzzling Derek’s shoulder and turning his heather-coloured shirt dark with her tears. Stiles felt Scott huff against his face with relief.

It wasn’t fair, he couldn’t help thinking with bitterness, that children had to suffer for their parents’ sins. Allison hadn’t even know about her family’s bloody history till this past year and had fallen in love with Scott anyway, hadn’t known the truth about Kate, Gerard, and Victoria, and had still managed to fall back into the fold after everything. It hadn’t been without its hiccoughs but Allison had chosen her side, and even if she still loved Chris, every moment away from him was another moment with them.

Erica nudged his hip where she’d wormed her way in between him and Derek. “We did good, huh, Batman?”

She was smiling, young and sweet and happy like everything Derek had ever wanted for them – for their pack, for _his_ pack. Between all the stray limbs and wriggly bodies Stiles found Derek’s wrist again and was pleased to find that he’d stopped shaking. Derek looked up from where he’d pressed his face into Allison’s hair.

His eyes were steady and back to their comforting hazel colour. It was enough to make Stiles’s heart beat triple-time in relief. Erica grumbled from where she was getting squished between them but it was her fault for squeezing in there in the first place.

“This is your pack, Derek,” he told him. “You did so good.”

Derek tugged his hand back to rest on his waist. Their foreheads tapped together and the pack closed ranks around them in a way that ought to have been suffocating for all the warmth and heat and skin but it really was just reassuring and familiar and _home_ in a way that Stiles suspected most of them had been missing and searching for for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.


	4. And Just One Mistake is All It Will Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have to get worse before they get better. In other words, the Sheriff finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter before the Epilogue, but neither Stiles, Arthur, nor the Sheriff wanted to shut up. This family, man.
> 
> Anyway, we're hitting the homestretch now. Thanks for hanging out, guys, I don't have the most regular update schedule, but the story is fully written, pending massive edits. I'll finish this up by end-June at the latest :DDD

Come morning and they were all scrambling for the bathroom in various states of awareness, pushing and shoving to get ready for school. The pack had several sets of clothes in each of their houses on the off-chance of an overnight puppy pile or fighting their latest big bad, something that had come in handy many a time. Derek was already long-gone, off at whatever wolfy location doing whatever wolfy things.

The girls were fighting over the mirrors in his bedroom and bathroom and Stiles fled the scene before one of them could rope him in, hissing enviously when he caught sight of Scott on the sofa downstairs, still out cold.

Danny had just joined him in the kitchen, obviously nosing about for breakfast when his phone went off with his dad’s ringtone.

“Damnit,” he muttered, only for it to come out as, “Dmmmr,” ‘cause he still had half a piece of toast in his mouth. Danny rolled his eyes and snatched the toast out of his mouth.

“Hey!” Stiles yelped into the phone. Danny, the vindictive bastard, just crunched down on his toast and finished it in 2 bites.

“I don’t know why I ever thought you were the nice one,” he growled.

Jackson laughed unkindly. “You say that like it’s the first day you’ve known him.”

“Oh right, he’s friends with you, _Jackarse-.”_

“Stiles?”

“Dad? Sorry, Jackson’s just being a little _shi-.”_

“Stiles,” Dad interrupted, voice tight. “Where are you?”

He stilled. “At home, Dad. We’re all- I mean, we’re getting ready for school, we’ll get going once the girls slap their make-up on.”

“That’s not what I meant, Stiles,” Dad said, sighing in a heavy raspy rustle of static against his ear. Danny made a ‘what’ face and Stiles made one back. The front door clicked open to reveal Arthur and Eames, still in the same clothes from last night, hardly looking any worse for the wear.

Stiles frowned. “Did I give you a key?”

Eames just smiled. “Aren’t you sprogs meant to be off to school?”

“Stiles?” Dad demanded in his ear. “Is that Arthur’s Eames?”

“Dad, what’s going on?” He put a hand on the counter.

“Stiles, get out of there, right now.”

“Dad?”

“I’m not joking, Stiles!” Dad snapped. “Get outta there and get to school, all of you! And don’t come back to the house until my shift is over.”

His fingers were trembling ever so slightly. He jerked at the hands that covered his and looked up to see Danny’s concerned face. “Dad, you’re scaring me.”

“Stiles,” Dad said, “it’ll be okay, I love you. Just go. Now.”

“Okay,” he said faintly, “okay. I love you too.” He pulled the phone from his ear and glared at his brother and his partner. “What the hell did you do last night?” he demanded.

“The Sheriff found the bodies?” Arthur asked, completely unconcerned. “Good.”

“You always did like efficiency,” Eames murmured.

_Oh my god, they’re psychopaths._

Eames wrinkled his nose. “Sociopath if you must, darling boy, but labels are horribly restricting.”

Great, he’d said that out loud. “You said you’d take care of them!”

“And we did,” Arthur replied, still as calm as you please. “We wanted them to be found. It’s a run-of-the-mill set-up that should make a pretty pointed message even for those hunters of yours.”

“No, it’s a pretty pointed message for my _dad!”_ he wailed.

Arthur frowned. “Doesn’t the Sheriff know about your whole-?” He gestured vaguely at him and Danny, which Stiles took to mean the pack.

“No!” he exclaimed. “He doesn’t, and I’d like to keep it that way! Dad doesn’t need to be involved in all this, okay? He’s got enough on his plate.”

Eames let out a low whistle. “If he’s managed to keep this under wraps for this long, I guess he’s related to you after all, darling.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Not helping, Mr. Eames,” he said before focusing on Stiles again. “He’d be better off knowing.”

“I’m not telling him,” he snapped back, “and you aren’t either.”

Arthur sighed. “Do you honestly think he’ll buy whatever lame excuse you’re going to tell him later? Besides, the 2 in the woods weren’t alone; they had friends in town.”

“Oh my god, you killed them too?” he moaned, pressing his face into Danny’s shoulder. “You can’t keep killing people like this!”

“I don’t see why not,” Arthur replied mildly, “especially since they were planning to kill you."

Was it bad that Stiles was honestly kind of touched by that? Like, he was legitimately quite touched by that sentiment. Arthur was hardly the most emotional even at the best of times and this was likely the closest he was going to come to laying his cards on the table.

He peeked over Danny’s shoulder to see a faint frown marring Arthur’s face, nothing like the heavy wrinkles Derek liked to contort his face into.

“Why doesn't the Sheriff know about your furry little problem? I assume it would be for the best.”

“Stop quoting Harry Potter at me,” he pouted. “And don’t you know what ‘assume’ really stands for?”

“The sprog’s got you there, darling,” Eames chortled.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Not helping, Mr. Eames.” Then he sighed. “If the Sheriff knew about werewolves, he’d know to watch out for hunters, too. Regardless of how they’d died, he’s not going to look to closely if he knew they were gunning for his own son’s blood.”

The matter-of-fact manner Arthur said it hit him like a blow to the gut.

“I’m not going to use my dad like that, Arthur,” he grit out.

“I don’t see why not,” the man returned, blithely unconcerned. “He’d be more than happy to be used that way if he understood why.”

And therein lay the crux of the matter. Stiles stared at him and realised that Arthur genuinely didn’t understand why he wouldn’t use his dad like that. A glint of copper caught his eye and he glanced over to see Lydia staring back at him with something like pity in her eye.

“What exactly did my dad find?”

“We set them up to look like a shoot-out had occurred between both parties,” Eames said, sounding entirely too calm. “He’s not going to find any evidence telling him otherwise.”

“How can you be so damn sure?”

Arthur sent him a flat look. “You don’t need to know the answer to that question. All you do need to know is that we don’t exist and the only people who know we’re here are your pack and the Sheriff. Him bringing us in is going to raise far more questions than anyone is comfortable with.”

“For someone who’s advocating an open policy, you’re not doing a very good job of reciprocating,” Danny pointed out.

Eames smiled, a small, private thing that made his eyes glitter and drew attention to those lush lips of his. It was only because he was tucked up so close beside Danny that he even caught the way the other boy swallowed.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t think we were actually going to be fair.”

“Well, that’s just too fucking bad,” Stiles snarled, stepping in front of Danny. “You don’t get to waltz into our town and shake up everything and then walk out again like nothing’s changed. I was doing just _fine_ without you!”

“So you would’ve been fine letting Gerard Argent drag someone else into the line of fire?”

Stiles felt as if his legs were being cut out from under him; Danny had to catch him to keep him from meeting the counter with his face. He fucking _hated_ the way even the mention of the man left him weak at the knees.

“Hey!” Allison yelled, shoving her way in front of him, followed by Lydia. “Leave Stiles out of this!”

Arthur only looked amused. “Are you finally taking responsibility for your family?”

Lydia bared her teeth. “Are _you?_ ‘Cause where I come from, you don’t throw their weaknesses into your family’s face.”

Stiles swallowed past the knot in his throat. “Why- why did you bring up Gerard?”

“We were planning to leave today,” Arthur replied, ignoring Jackson’s growl. “We have Gerard in our sights.” That causes them all to stop and stare. “We should be able to bring him back tonight and have everything settled by tomorrow.”

“You- _how?”_

Arthur shrugged. “I have sources,” he said cryptically, as if said sources hadn’t trumped the hunter grapevine, the werewolf grapevine, Deaton’s grapevine, and good old-fashioned police work. Arthur had been in town for a day and he already had Gerard in his crosshairs.

“It’s up to you if you want to tell the Sheriff-.”

“ _Damn right it is!”_

“-or not, but you should still try to stay out of trouble for the rest of the day,” and Stiles could barely believe the gall of Arthur telling him that. “If the police here are even halfway decent, they should be able to wrap up the case by this evening. We really weren’t very subtle,” the man muttered with a scowl.

“Come now, darling,” Eames purred, “crimes of passion are never very subtle.”

Jackson pulled a face. “Dude, keep it in your pants.” Erica didn’t even blink while punching him hard in the arm.

“We should go if we want to make it for first period,” Boyd rumbled.

Stiles bit his lip and glanced around the pack gathered in his kitchen. Lydia was holding onto Allison and across the room, Scott was holding onto Isaac in the almost exact same way. Jackson was still rubbing where Erica had punched him, the big baby.

“Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. He glared at Arthur. “No more killing people.”

Arthur just shrugged, unconcerned. “Apart from Gerard Argent, everyone else on his team is dead.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. Even Erica was edging away from the 2 men, a cautious look on her face.

He snagged Isaac’s sleeve as the other boy walked by. “Derek?” he asked quietly.

Isaac shook his head. “He left to patrol at dawn.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone to send their Alpha a quick text.

 **Don’t go into town and keep your arse out of my dad’s holding cells, okay? Arthur was a bit overzealous with the spring-cleaning.** He added a smiley face at the end to make it seem more endearing. The reply came in before they’d even left the house: **> :-(**

Stiles snorted and shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Tomorrow?” he asked Arthur and Eames.

The man consulted his phone and glanced at Eames, who tilted his head to the side, looking amused. Despite everything, that synchronicity and understanding was annoyingly enviable. Arthur’s next words made all his thoughts screech to a halt.

“Probably tonight.”

Derek swung by the school with the Camaro once they were done for the day, and the werewolf wonder twins and Boyd piled in eagerly. Lydia shoved Danny Jackson’s way and glared at Scott until he slunk into Allison’s SUV, before climbing into his jeep’s passenger seat.

“Take the long way around,” she ordered.

He glanced at the set look on her face as he pulled out of the school lot. “We can stop by the Starbucks drive-by.”

Lydia sighed. “Yeah, why not.”

“You do know I don’t have anything to add about Arthur, right? Mostly ‘cause I don’t know shit about him anyway?”

Lydia dismissed his words with a flippant wave. “Danny’s been working his magic on your long-lost brother. It’s early days yet, but he’ll come up with something.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows but didn’t say a word. Danny was good at what he did and he nearly always got results immediately, and he was almost certain Danny had been working his mojo since Arthur had first shown up, so if he hadn’t gotten anything by now, he was almost certain he wasn’t going to get anything at all.

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Lydia said, startling him. “I want to know if what we’re doing is the right thing.” Her face momentarily darkened. “We’ve only ever talked about catching Gerard Argent. Arthur’s methods seem to be a bit more…permanent.”

“That does seem to be his M.O.,” he replied, slowing down for the amber light and ignoring some impatient S.O.B. behind him tooting his damn horn. “There were the 2 yesterday and the however many there were in town. Arthur said they were all dead.”

It was a nicer way of saying Arthur (and Eames) had already killed them all.

“I’m also worried about the repercussions this will get from the hunters,” she continued. “Arthur also said that he was going to break Mr. Argent.”

Stiles tightened his grip on his steering wheel as he turned into Starbucks. “I don’t know if we- it’s Allison’s dad.”

“He tried to kill your BFF and his hobby is threatening the pack,” Lydia pointed out, always up for playing devil's advocate.

“He also didn’t know about Kate and when he found out what Gerard was doing he let us go,” he countered. Although not torturing helpless teenagers was kind of a low bar, and Lydia’s acerbic glare said she knew that.

“Arthur seems confident his plan will work.”

Stiles frowned. “You trust him?”

“I think he’s competent,” Lydia said instead. “I think his own sense of professionalism won’t him do anything less. Also, he does seem to genuinely care for you, although his way of showing it is a little…”

“Murdery?”

She rolled her eyes and then wound down the window to place their orders, her card in hand before he could even fumble for his wallet.

“Thanks,” he said. She waved his words away. “Did Allison say anything to you? About- about last night.”

“Nothing more than what we’d already heard,” she said. “I don’t know if we’d like to hear it, either. No matter the circumstances, her mother died as a result of the pack’s actions, even if we’re all on the same page where Kate is concerned. And while I’m the last one to argue about Gerard being a rabid dog-.”

“-he’s still her grandfather,” he sighed, inching Betsy forward in the line, “and family is everything to pack. But Victoria Argent was a mad hopped-up bitch who wanted to kill Scott and the less we say about Kate, the better. Allison knows now that Derek only bit Victoria to save Scott.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I think everyone’s tried to kill Scott at one time or other. He’s like the village bicycle, only with more murder attempts and less sex.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Stiles, I do _not_ want to know how that ridiculous brain of yours works. I think Allison would have something to say about her boyfriend being the village murder bicycle.”

“I mean, if Isaac gets involved the way he’s chomping at the bit to, Scott might still get to be the village sex bicycle?”

“Shut up and drinking your frappe, Stiles.”

His street was uncomfortably full, the Camaro, Porsche, and SUV parked in front of his house, leaving space in the driveway for his dad’s cruiser and Betsy.

“Ah, shit, he’s home already.”

“Considering the call this morning, did you really think he would be otherwise?”

“One can dream,” he said mournfully, gnawing on his straw.

He parked Betsy but didn’t get out immediately, fingers tap-tap-tapping on the steering wheel. “So are we doing this?”

Lydia exhaled heavily, hands primly set in her lap. “I’m tired of fighting, Stiles,” she said, staring fixedly ahead. “Maybe it makes me selfish, but I think Gerard Argent and a few hunters are a small price to pay for peace.”

He couldn’t disagree. It still took him a few seconds to unstick his throat and say, “C’mon, let’s get out of here before Jackson thinks I’ve absconded with you and Dad has to shoot my tires out.”

“About damn time,” Jackson muttered as they came in the front door. The rest of the pack was already gathered in the living room, not so subtly shooting glances over at his dad. For his part, Dad was in front of the sliding door that led out into the back garden, still in full uniform, arms crossed over his chest.

Derek was sitting in the centre of the sofa, the werewolf wonder twins on the floor between his legs and Boyd seated on his left. Allison was on Scott’s lap in one of the armchairs and Danny was hovering about the mantlepiece. Jackson herded Lydia into the other armchair and planted a heavy hand in the middle of his back to shove him into the sofa, where he landed face-first into Derek’s chest.

“Jerk,” Stiles muttered, through his mouthful of Derek’s shirt, trying to push himself upright. Derek’s arm settled over his shoulders, though, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t gone very far anyway. Once they were all settled, Dad turned to pierce each one of them through with his accusatory gaze.

“2 men were found dead in the forest this morning,” he began. “They were shot in the head, very clean, very precise. Professional kills, if you will. The weird thing was how this clearing had no other footprints apart from those we could match to the men, but it was absolutely covered in animal tracks. And the gun used to kill those 2 was matched to a firefight that killed 6 others at a motel this morning in some sort of ‘shoot out’.” His dad actually lifted his hands to act out the air-quotes.

Stiles fought a wince. This was so bad. This was so, _so_ bad.

“Are those guys from out of town?” Scott asked, and Stiles wanted to take his shoe and chuck it straight at the idiot’s head. “I mean, like, it’s not someone we know, is it?” Scott squeaked when Dad’s attention zoomed in on him with frankly alarming precision. God, they’d just about grown up together, he _knew_ what Dad could be like once he scented blood in the water.

“As it so happens, yes, they’re all from out of town,” he replied icily. “How convenient.”

Lydia smiled. It reminded Stiles of one of those smug squash-faced cats. “Isn’t it?” Dad scowled, but Lydia knew how to play this game just as well as he did. And then Scott had to open his stupid mouth again.

“It’s not like a wolf could, like, fire some dude’s gun and set up some other guys to take the fall for it, right?” Scott laughed nervously.

Now they were all staring at Scott incredulously. Jackson _and_ Lydia both looked like ready to join the Scott village murder bicycle trend and Stiles was _this_ close to suffocating himself with Derek’s henley, certain it would hurt less. He hoped for Allison's sake that Scott was better in the sack than out of it.

On the floor, Isaac’s face was buried in Erica’s hair and their shoulders were shaking. Stiles was almost certain the 2 were laughing their arses off down there and tried not to show it.

Dad glared at Scott for what he thought was a joke in really, _really_ bad taste, and Stiles hid an enormous sigh of relief.

“Look, I don’t pretend to understand what you kids get up to these days, especially you, Mr. Hale.” Dad’s sharp glare abruptly landed on Derek and Stiles felt the Alpha straighten instinctively. “And I’ve given up on asking ‘cause Lord knows I’m not gonna get the truth out of you.” The bottom of his stomach dropped and he felt sick. Derek’s hand tightened on his nape, hard enough to make him wince. The pain was actually welcome to take his mind off…things.

“But there’s this trend of strangers coming through town and leaving all bloodied or in a body bag, and there’s one common denominator: you lot. So you’re gonna sit your arses down and tell me what the _hell_ is going on!” Dad roared.

“Dad…” he croaked.

“Stiles,” Derek murmured, kneading his nape with his fingers.

Dad’s gaze refocused on the 2 of them. “What. The hell. Is going on,” he ground out again.

He dropped his head in his hands but he couldn’t erase the memory of his dad’s accusation. He didn’t want to do this. If his dad knew about the pack, he was going to want to be involved, and he couldn’t cope with that. Not when Dad wasn’t equipped to handle the supernatural or hunters, not by a long shot. He couldn’t – not his dad.

He didn’t let himself think of what he’d do if Dad gave him any kind of ultimatum. He wasn't going to leave the pack and he wasn't going to leave his dad.

“Those men you found,” came Allison’s voice, and he jerked his head up. There was nothing but resolution on her face even as she batted Scott’s babbling objections out of the way. “They were hunters.”

Dad shook his head, patently unconvinced. “There’s not a lot of game out in these wounds. Besides, it’s not hunting season and none of them had a hunting permit.”

Lydia shook her head, her hands gripping Jackson’s hard enough to turn her knuckles white. “They were hunting a different sort of game. They were hunting us.”

Just like that, he had Dad’s attention back on him but he couldn’t bring himself to look back.

“What the hell is going on?” Dad snarled, sounding more than half-’wolf himself.

“Scott’s an idiot,” Erica said bluntly, “but he’s right about ‘wolves.” She glanced at Derek, who nodded. “Just not about them shooting those men last night.”

In an eyeblink, she’d shifted, Isaac and Boyd, too, Jackson, and Scott. Dad swore and startled back, rattling the sliding door, one hand flying to his hip but the holster was already empty. Dad’s head whipped around to see Danny holding his service revolver between his thumb and forefinger, looking apologetic.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “just a precaution.”

Danny tiptoed past him to leave the gun on the kitchen counter before going around to slide his hand over Jackson’s shoulder. The ‘wolves stay shifted for a moment longer.

“…werewolves?” Dad asked shakily.

Derek nodded, his expression calm. The only sign of his nerves was the way his nails had lengthened to claws out of Dad’s sight, just prickling the nape of his neck. Stiles supposed he ought to have been more alarmed with an Alpha’s paw settled so closely to his spinal cord, but he could only draw comfort from the warm heavy weight of Derek’s hand cradling the base of his skull.

“I didn’t wanna tell you,” he choked out. “It was my fault, it was all my fault, if you went looking and got hurt it would’ve been my fault-.”

“You idiot,” was all the warning he got before he was yanked out of the sofa and manhandled against his dad’s chest. He wasn’t going to cry, especially not in front of Jackson, but he clung. He hadn’t in so long, and if he let himself think about it, it was heartbreaking how many of their pack didn’t have this sort of connexion to go home to. He wouldn't feel guilty for having his dad, for loving his dad, for his dad loving him, but it still made his heart ache.

“I’m not all down with this,” Dad admitted, and his heart spit out an unsteady rhythm. Dad just gripped him back tighter, not that their strength had anything on ‘wolf paws and shook him, lightly, just enough to get his attention.

“I’m not okay with all this,” he said, “not yet, but we’ll get there, I promise.” Stiles swallowed hard against the swelling hope in his chest and furiously blinked back tears.

“Thank you,” Dad continued, “for telling me the truth. I get that it’s a lot to take in and that you were scared, but you don’t ever have to be.” He lightly shook him again. “You’re my _son,_ Stiles. You never have to be afraid of me.” Dad reeled him in for one last hug before letting him go and he missed the contact immediately. “But we _are_ going to be having a lot of conversations about this, starting with how I have a job to protect this town-.”

Stiles shook his head so hard his vision was a blur. “No, no,” he babbled out, “no, you don’t get it, Dad, this is exactly why- why the station-.” He choked back the memory of broken bodies and familiar lifeless faces strewn about a place he’d grown up in. “No one was prepared. You can’t fight off rival packs with bullets and badges, Dad, you _can’t.”_

“And you can?” Dad challenged, sweeping around the room with a sharp gaze. “Not all of you are werewolves.”

“We’re pack,” he said defensively. “We know how we work.”

“A pack isn’t always made of ‘wolves,” Derek rumbled. “We need humans for balance; they all help in their own way, no less than any tooth or claw.”

His jaw wanted to drop. It was possibly the most complimentary thing he’d ever heard out of Derek’s mouth and he kind of wished he’d known in advance so he could’ve videoed it for posterity’s sake.

“Stiles is smart,” Erica volunteered from the floor. Beside her, Isaac butted his head against his thigh and his hand dropped, reflex by now, to ruffle Isaac’s curls. Seriously, runt of the litter, and he knew how to use it. “He _gets_ us, without even being one of us.”

Allison chuckled. “So what are the rest of us? Wolf-chow?”

Erica flashed her fangs, which made Dad do a double-take, but Scott hid a giggle against Allison’s shoulder. “Now I know you’re just fishing for compliments.”

Stiles sent a tentative smile Dad’s way. “Allison’s like Katniss, from ‘The Hunger Games’, you know, only way more badarse. And Lydia’s well, Lydia,” he shrugged. He wouldn't have to say anything else, Dad had been listening to him wax lyrical about her since third-grade. “And everyone could do with a little more Danny Mahealani in their lives. That juvenile record of his makes for exciting reading,” he added with a wink.

“That’s supposed to be sealed!” Danny and Dad snapped at the same time, although Danny just sounded resigned at this point.

He just grinned. “C’mon, fingers like that and my dad didn’t even notice? You must’ve been real good not to get caught.”

Dad tried to wrest some control of the conversation back. “What about you?” he asked.

“Stiles is like Harry Potter,” Scott volunteered immediately.

“More like werewolf-catnip,” Jackson scoffed.

“Except catnip can’t electrocute that smoking arse of yours,” he retorted and even Lydia laughed. He wiggled his fingers to allow a few sparks to jump from the tips, startling Dad. “So yeah,” he said, “I’m kinda secretly a Disney princess, except that I don’t sing. I make friends with animals, though,” he added, grinning with Jackson growled.

“You also constantly need rescuing,” Danny drawled.

“Ix-nay on the escue-ray, alright?” Stiles grit out. Even if Danny looked apologetic, it didn’t erase the look the boy’s words had put on his dad's face and his heart immediately began to beat triple-time in his chest. He should’ve lied, should’ve kept his dad out if this, if only so it would keep that look off his dad's face. He couldn’t lose Dad, that was the whole point of being in the thick of things in the first place, and he didn’t even realise he was hyperventilating until Derek shoved his dumb face in front of his, fingers biting into his shoulders as he ordered him to breathe.

Which was fine and dandy and all, but Stiles wasn’t a freaking ‘wolf so Derek’s Alphaness wouldn’t work on him and his breaths were getting faster but the air was getting thinner and he absently wondered how St. Bernards could haul their weight around in the Alps and heard someone who wounded an awful lot like Lydia say, “He’s having a panic attack,” and his heart jolted ‘cause he didn’t want to worry his dad ‘cause his dad had never dealt well with his attacks but Dad was _right there-._

There was a clatter from the kitchen door and then Derek’s face was shoved aside for Arthur, who produced a magic bag for him all over again just like when he was 9 and his mum had just died and Stiles knew he wasn’t a child anymore but Arthur’s face hadn’t changed one whit so he just gripped the bag and gripped the man's wrist and _breathed_ like Arthur had just discovered air for him.

“Hasn’t anyone _else_ learnt what to do in the event of a panic attack?” Arthur asked irritably and Stiles scrabbled for his arm and wanted to tell his pack that it wasn’t their fault ‘cause the stench of guilt was palatable even to his useless human nose but Arthur got there first with a, “You, hush,” directed at him, removing something from his vest and depositing it in his hand.

It took a few gasping breaths before he could glance down but he was gaping once he did. It was a- it was a _soapdish-dog,_ which wasn’t quite the same, but it looked _exactly_ how he’d imagined the Soapdog would’ve looked and he couldn’t believe Arthur remembered this after all these years. He burst into tears and buried his face against Arthur’s middle, crumpling the magic bag between them but it was alright because Arthur was petting his head like he had that first time even if his hair had been long then and was all but shorn now.

“How did you even know-?” Allison began to ask, just for Eames to sidle in with a very innuendo-laden, “Arthur always comes with the best timing.”

Stiles would’ve snorted if he didn’t think he’d choke on his own mucus and end up suffocating himself, knowing his own luck.

“Stop that,” Arthur said absently. “All 5 fingers even, look.”

Stiles drew his head back enough to do exactly that, taking first one hand and then the other, moving them about, rotating them either way to make sure all the joints were intact. There were a lot of callouses and nicks and scars he could identify from knives and bullets now, but he made sure not to look too closely, since that really wasn’t the point of this thing.

They had the same hands, not particularly big but long, with dexterous fingers. He was used to working with his own set, but he could tell that Arthur’s was dangerous, the marks on them told him that. The marks also told him that they were the same set as the last time. Arthur fanned his fingers out and wiggled them.

“No hidden gears,” he said.

Stiles sighed and leant forward again. “Do you have the bells yet?” They were still his favourite books and he couldn’t help but wonder if he could get away with asking for a Mogget, next.

“Spoilsport,” Arthur chided and he was about to retort when the man stiffened. At first Stiles froze, fear ratcheting up his spine, but Arthur just sighed, petting him back into relaxation even as he pulled his phone out from his pocket.

“Philly, do you know what time it is?” Arthur was asking. His hand slipped from his head but Stiles didn’t feel abandoned in the least, not with the ‘wolves all but falling over themselves to push into his space. Stiles laughed wetly at their enthusiasm, arms spreading to touch as many of them as he could. Even Boyd had snuggled close and Lydia was daintily perched on top of Jackson. Derek was pressed up beside him, like always, and it was almost the best thing to have them all here with him.

“Dude,” Scott said, “I haven’t seen it get that bad in a long time,” and just like that Stiles was abruptly thrown back to the air freezing in his lungs.

Suddenly a pair of fingers shoved their way in front of his nose and snapping, loudly.

“Hey. _Hey,”_ Arthur was saying forcefully into the phone, ‘wolves spilling out of his way. His eyes were dark and entirely focused on him and there was another uncrumpled paper bag in hand if he wanted it, and Stiles really did have to figure out how Arthur kept doing that.

“Philly, you’re meant to be at school right now. If Mrs. Ereston calls me again – yes, of course he’s stupid, he’s your father, he does things like that sometimes.”

Arthur seemed to be speaking to more than the mysterious child who seemed so dependent on him, and Stiles wondered if it wasn’t just as surprising that Arthur let her – but then he thought about himself and the way Arthur had come through for him at the worst of times, and maybe it wasn’t that surprising after all.

“Hold on a minute, Phil.”

Arthur covered the mouthpiece of his phone as he said to Eames, “I need to take this outside.” His eyes were focused on him, though, and he only left when Stiles nodded, leaving the paper bag with him and the soapdish-dog cradled protectively in his hands. Arthur didn’t even glance at his dad when he passed him on the way out, Eames at his heels.

There was a soft touch on his shoulder, and it was his dad, come to sit on the arm of the sofa beside him. Dad looked like he was flagging, with his sagging shoulders and the old, old look in his eyes. God, it hurt his heart to look at him. He’d never wanted this for his dad, had only ever wanted him safe and sane. He’d never wanted to make him worry at all.

“Dad-.”

“Why is he back here, Stiles?”

He blinked, confused by the sudden turn of conversation. “What?”

“I’m not joking, Stiles,” Dad said. “Arthur. Why is he back?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” he grit out. “I don’t have his cellphone, his address, anything. And before you ask, yes, I had Danny teach me how to hack into the official records.” He didn’t bother waiting for the exasperated, “Stiles!”, that would follow at any moment. “I couldn't find anything at all, all his missions were redacted." 

Dad sighed, shaking his head, as he looked over the lot of them, eyes lingering on him and Scott the longest. It would make sense, he guessed; they were the 2 most familiar faces to him.

“You’re just kids, all of you,” Dad said quietly, pointedly including Derek. “You shouldn’t have had to handle this, any of you.” His dad stared at them again before he shook his head. “That’s why I wanted all of you away from Arthur, not just you, Stiles. The last time he was here he said he’d never come back again.” Dad’s face folded into a pained grimace. “The last time he was here I told him he ever should come back again.”

“Dad.”

He tried to encompass all of his wide-eyed shock into that one word. Arthur wasn’t – he wasn’t _family,_ not the way his mum and dad were, but he was still _family,_ and if it was anything his parents had impressed upon him, it was the importance of family.

“He’s dangerous, kiddo.” Dad shook his head. “I don’t know what he does and I don’t wanna know. But I don’t want you around him.”

“You want him gone,” Stiles said grimly.

Dad looked shifty but he didn’t deny it.

“O-kay,” he exhaled. “Was not expecting that.” He paused, thoughts racing a mile a minute. Lydia’s bright blue eyes bored into him and she raised an eyebrow. Okay, he could throw an old dog a bone (ha). 

“He was the distraction,” Stiles blurted out. “When those hunters came for us in the forest – he and Eames just happened to be there, I don’t know how he knew. Arthur told us to run and we did, we didn’t look back.”

“Goddamnit, Stiles!”

“I was afraid you’d arrest him,” he rasped.

“Yeah, well, I’m starting to see a trend in the company you keep,” Dad snapped.

Stiles was shaking ever so lightly where he sat, fingers digging into the meat of Derek’s thigh. A moment later, Derek’s hand was covering his, squeezing tight. “Dad?”

“All I ever wanted for you growing up was to be normal kid,” Dad said. “No- no _werewolves,_ or hunters, or long-lost hitman brothers.”

He recoiled, stung. “Sorry I’m all you get!”

“That- wasn’t what I meant,” Dad stammered.

“Am I going to have to play referee for the 2 of you?” Lydia snapped, and he abruptly realised they were airing all their shitty family laundry in front of the pack – _had_ been airing all of the shitty family laundry this entire time, actually. “Or do I have to call Arthur back to do it?” That threat - and perhaps who it had come from - was enough to have Dad quailing back. 

“Mum loved him,” he snarled.

That just made Dad deflate like a punctured balloon.

“That kid’s been through some serious business,” he relented, “and I’d never wish that on anybody. I wish he’d had someone growing up, maybe even us, maybe it would’ve made all the difference. But he didn’t, and he grew up anyway.” Dad looked exhausted. “You know that blood alone doesn’t make a family, kiddo. Arthur’s dangerous, to himself and to the others around him, whether or not he knows it. I don’t want you near him,” he repeated.

Stiles pressed his lips together and pointedly leant backwards, into Derek’s warmth. “I'm not stupid enough to say he isn't dangerous,” he said, “but I don’t think he’d ever hurt me.”

Dad looked away.

“Look, Arthur’s not planning on staying,” he continued, trying to throw his dad yet another bone (ha!). “He said he was just here to check up on me and considering how he didn’t even know about werewolves, I don’t think he was lying about that.”

“He cares about you, we can smell it,” Scott piped up, finally saying the right thing for once. And then he had to put his mouth into it, because it just wouldn't be Scott otherwise. “Um. Only about you, though. He doesn’t really care about anyone else.”

Stiles slowly closed his eyes.

“McCall, you really need to learn when to shut up,” Boyd rumbled.

“There’s no evidence linking either of them to either scene,” Lydia said over Scott's wounded protests. “You have to know that none of us are going to testify, either.”

“That’s a lot of ‘either’s,” he murmured.

“Shut up, Stiles,” she retorted, “or I’ll never help you again.”

“ _That’s_ what you consider helping?”

“ _Stiles.”_

He mimed zipping up his mouth.

“He said he was leaving tonight, or tomorrow at the latest,” Danny offered without ever once mentioned the reason behind those timings.

Dad sighed. “I hope that’s the last of it, for all our sakes.”

Stiles bit his lip before he said something he’d regret.

Yeah, he didn’t want Arthur to stay, might not have even wanted him back in the first place, but the man was still his brother, and now that he was back, he was helping them clean up the pack's messes, no questions asked. He stlll remembered his favourite books, knew how to deal with his panic attacks, knew how to deal with _him._ He certainly hadn't hurt him, had only shoved some rather uncomfortable truths in his face. Arguably, he’d done more for him than-.

Stiles sunk his teeth in, deeper. Derek’s hand massaged the nape of his neck where his dad couldn’t see.

“I need to get back to the station,” Dad said when it was clear he wasn’t going to volunteer anything more. “Stay home tonight, all of you.”

When he left it was like Stiles could finally _breathe._

“I love him and I’m always going to want to protect him, but sometimes I-.”

“Hey.”

Surprisingly, it was Isaac who’d reached out with a tentative hand on his calf. “We all get shitty families, you don’t have to explain anything to us.”

Of course Erica had to follow that up with, “Although none of us were hiding a hot assassin brother.”

“God,” he muttered, covering his face with his hands, “what the hell is wrong with my life?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also this is super belated but let's take it that Peter never comes back after the first time. Like, I love the guy now, but I started writing this at a very different point in my life and he just wouldn't fit D: (that's what she said)


	5. We'll Go Down in History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite everything, in spite of everything, there was no place he'd rather be, here, at the end of old things and the start of something new.

Derek, the unsympathetic bastard, just chuckled. Stiles could feel the vibrations of the Alpha’s laughter reverberate through his back from his chest.

“What isn't wrong with your life?” he deadpanned.

Stiles scowled, jabbing his elbow backwards. There was a levity to their jostling that vanished the moment he asked, “What’re you gonna do when Arthur brings back Gerard?”

Derek looked at him steadily. “He and Eames left the moment he was done with his phone call. And you said ‘when’, not ‘if’.”

He shook his head. “You weren’t here this morning. Arthur called us to say he’d bring Gerard back tonight or tomorrow at the latest.”

Derek’s gaze sharpened. “What did Gerard do, Stiles?”

He shrugged; he honestly wanted to be done with this part of his life. In some ways, that made him glad for the coming resolution. Maybe if Gerard was…gone, and if he saw it in-person, it would finally put some of his nightmares to rest, not to mention the old man wouldn’t ever be able to hurt anyone ever again. It was cold comfort to those who'd came before, but he hoped it would let them rest in peace, too.

“You know what he did. He hurt me. He hurt Erica and Boyd, Scott and Allison. He created Kate, and I’m of a mind to blame Victoria’s death on him, too.”

“Wait, what?” Allison exclaimed.

He glanced at her apologetically. “Your dad’s the best of a bad bunch, you can’t tell me that he would’ve minded a werewolf for a wife. So why was your mum so damn insistent?”

Allison let out a small choked sound, shaking so hard Scott had to catch ahold of her before she crumpled to the ground.

Stiles sighed, rubbing scrubbing at his hair. He wasn’t the only who’d suffered at Gerard’s hands, wasn’t going to volunteer to play the martyr. “He did a lot of shit and it’s finally his turn to pay for it. That’s all you need to know.”

“He did a lot more than that,” Derek growled.

Stiles met his eyes squarely. “Yeah, he did.” Derek looked away first.

“C’mon,” he sighed, standing and hauling the Alpha up with him. “Dad wanted us to stay in, but more importantly, he won’t be home anytime soon. This calls for a puppy pile as soon as we can push the furniture to the side.”

Jackson scowled. “I’ll get you for that, Stilinski.”

Stiles opened his eyes wide. “All I did was say we’d be having a puppy pile. Did I say you were a puppy or that you’d be a part of it?”

Lydia’s laughter was likely the only thing that stopped him from getting his arse beat. Well, that and the sudden bustle that had overtaken the living room as the rest of the ‘wolves started to move the furniture around, clearing a large open space on the carpet.

Erica and Isaac were the first to roll in, taking Scott down at the knees. Allison laughed lightly, dodging the ball of squabbling werewolf, allowing Boyd to help her down far more gently. That was before Boyd reached out and yanked Jackson down with a yelp, Lydia hissing as she just managed to avoid being pulled down, too. Danny was laughing, having just managed to grab ahold of Lydia, keeping her upright.

Derek stepped forward and the pack rippled in response to the presence of the Alpha, calming and reaching out for him. Stiles watched him brush against outstretched hands and arms and necks and didn't bother hiding his growing smile, choosing instead to landed heavily on Scott, knowing his bro could take it.

“Oof!” Scott grunted, struggling to shove him off but Allison jabbed him in the kidney with her thumb. Stiles laughed, rolling over Scott to hug her.

“I knew I liked you for a reason.”

“Get your heavy arse off me, Stilinski,” Jackson grunted, shoving him back into Derek.

“Spoilsport,” he muttered, squirming into place and tucking his nose into the hinge of Derek's jaw. He felt an arm slide around his waist, savoured the warmth of the bodies around and over him, and the pack breathed as one.

He didn’t even remember falling sleep.

He remembered waking, though, having rolled into Isaac sometime after Derek had left. At least the Alpha had left a note, saying he’d gone on a perimeter patrol. If Stiles had been awake he would’ve argued against it, which was probably why Derek had waited to sneak out. The waiting must have chafed, though, if not even the pack bond could calm him enough.

Allison, Isaac, and Boyd were in the middle of bickering between cooking and ordering in when he got a call from an untraceable number that managed to fumble even Danny’s system.

“Hey.”

Just like that, the entire pack went still. He slid a thumb across his phone and turned on the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Stiles.” Surprise-surprise, it was Arthur. “Where are we bringing him?”

“That was fast,” he said, staring blankly ahead. Isaac was holding onto Allison to keep her from falling over while Lydia’s bright blue eyes sparked with intensity.

“Not the house,” she answered for him. “He doesn’t deserve to be on our land.” Allison flinched at her words. That had even Boyd reaching out to ground her with a hand around her wrist.

Stiles closed his eyes and thought. “The county border,” he remembered. “There’s a small house along it – I think it used to be a gun hut. We’ll be there.”

“Done.” And then dial tone.

Danny was the first to speak. “That was quick.”

He laughed with very little humour. “Arthur was in the military. You know what they’re like about efficiency.”

“Even my dad couldn’t find him,” Allison said. It was late spring and she was still rubbing her arms as if she’d caught a chill. They’d all been especially vigilant today and Allison in particular had a hand on her cell this entire time in case Chris called with news. They knew Chris loved her and would probably get a warning out to her in case anything came up. Probably.

If no one was going to bring up the noticeable lack of warning the past 2 times, Stiles wasn’t going to do it either.

“He was just gone,” Allison continued, talking to Isaac, “along with some of the hunters. No one was talking.”

“Well, we know where the hunters are now,” Erica said brightly.

“Is she allowed to say stuff like that?” Scot whispered to Boyd.

“Are you gonna tell her no?” Boyd shot back. Scott flinched when Erica turned her fanged grin his way.

“Lemme call Derek,” Stiles muttered, refusing to get involved.

He was greeted by a grunt in his ear. “Good evening to you too, Sourwolf,” he muttered, “sorry for interrupting your tough-man patrol. Arthur just called.” He could feel the Alpha’s focus sharpen, even through the phone. “Mission accomplished. Lyds-.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“-didn’t think we should bring him back to the house so I told him to take him out to the county line – that ramshuckle hut, yeah.”

He heard harsh breathing over the line for a handful of heartbeats before there was a click and a flat dial tone. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Goodbye to you too,” he muttered, reaching for his keys. “Let’s get going.”

“If might be for the best if we beat Derek there,” Danny said. “Otherwise he might tempt your brother into shooting him up again, and I think he’s resourceful enough to have gotten his hands on wolfsbane bullets by now.”

Stiles sighed. “Don’t call him that, okay? He’s not my- my _anything._ Even if my dad were less- whatever, I don’t think Arthur’s ever thought of himself in that way.”

“Methink the lady doth protest too much,” Isaac muttered, skipping over his kick as he followed Allison into her SUV.

He glared at Isaac’s back, only relenting when Boyd tugged him along, Erica already in the backseat.

“The little shit,” he muttered as he started Betsy and reversed out, peeling off into the night.

“There’s Derek,” Erica barked once they hit the road out of town, and sure enough, there was a familiar black Camaro weaving through traffic like a madman.

“How the hell did he get his license like that?” Stiles muttered, absently shifting into a higher gear to keep pace with the other car.

Erica cackled.

“He used to live in New York, didn’t he?” Boyd murmured. “I feel like that explains a lot.”

Arthur was already at the hut, sitting on the boot of a nondescript black Honda. One of the back doors was open. When they pulled up, Arthur dropped lightly off the car and took a few steps forward. Stiles threw Betsy into park and flung himself out out, immediately latching onto Derek the moment he was close enough. He was reasonably certain Derek wouldn’t tear through Arthur and the metal boot to get to Gerard, but he’d been wrong before.

Without a word, Arthur popped the boot open and dragged Gerard out. The old man was bound, gagged, and unconscious, but looked unhurt for the most part.

Allison dashed up behind them. “How did you find him?” she exclaimed. “We looked – everywhere.”

Arthur gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I know people who know people and I didn’t even need to pull any strings to get his location. It wasn’t as if he was trying too hard to hide.”

Arthur’s eyes were dark as he stared at Derek. “He wasn’t even that very far; there was always the intention to come back and finish what he’d started. We just happened to get the jump on him first.”

The whole pack had arrived by then, standing in a loose half-circle with Arthur and Gerard at the centre. If Arthur felt threatened at being surrounded by a pack of werewolves, he didn’t show it.

“What now?” Danny asked, breathless.

Stiles glanced on either side of him, taking in the pale, fearful faces of his pack. But there was a certain resolution mixed in there, a determination to see things through to their (probably) bloody end.

“Now I make a point out of him,” Arthur murmured, pulling something small from his jacket pocket and attaching it to his ear. Stiles squinted – it looked like a discrete bluetooth set.

He suddenly realised that Eames was unaccounted for and for all the car door was open, the interior was empty.

There was the sound of another car tearing up the road and Derek noticeably tensed. Allison looked alarmed.

“That’s my dad’s car!” she cried out. “What are you going to do with him?”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Arthur dismissed before pausing thoughtfully. “Not physically, anyway.”

“Hale!” He could barely recognise Chris Argent’s voice through the screech and cringed; whatever Arthur had sent him must’ve really pissed him off. Around them, the pack shifted uneasily. Boyd urged Erica and Isaac to step close, huddling behind the protective presence of their Alpha – and him.

“Hale, what the hell _beast_ you got-.”

Arthur smiled as Chris Argent staggered into view. It wasn’t pleasant by any meaning of the word. “Neither Hale nor beast, I’m afraid. Just me.” He undid his cuffs, loosened the knot of his tie, and popped the top button, baring a pale sliver of throat. “I already did you a favour and cleaned up his, and by extension, _your_ mess; I fully expect a thank-you card in the mail.”

He nudged Gerard with the toe of his oxford. “This is all that’s left.”

Chris’s eyes ping-ponged between Arthur and Derek. “Is this one of your games, Hale?” he sneered. “Threatening me when you think you’ve got the upper-.”

“Dad,” Allison begged, clinging to Derek’s arm, “Daddy, please, stop.”

Arthur’s mouth curved up even further. “Will you listen to your daughter, _Christian?_ Or is this cycle going to come full circle?” He raised a hand, pointer finger extended as he traced an illustrative circle in the air. His wrists looked strangely delicate considering the body count they’d racked up over the past 2 days.

Chris- _Christian?_ \- goes white. “Don’t,” he spat, but he was breathless and gasping, “don’t call me that- _don’t-.”_

“Don’t call you what?” Arthur hummed. _“Christian?”_ Chris flinched. “No one remembers Christian Argent anymore, do they? Christian Argent was a small-town boy with big-city dreams, just yearning for the opportunity to cast his father’s yoke from his neck.”

Stiles glanced sideways and found Danny looking back at him with confusion written all over his face. Lydia’s expression was carefully neutral, but even she couldn’t hide the questions that were practically overflowing out of that big, beautiful brain of hers.

No, really. _What the fuck?_

Arthur just kept droning on, uncaring.

“Christian Argent was a Straight-A student, Dean’s List, Berkley alumni, successful defendant of his Master’s Thesis in Spanish Literature, 2 years into his doctorate, Varsity athlete; guess Daddy’s teachings came in handy after all when Coach Hackett said he’d never seen a point weave the way _Christian_ did. Not that it mattered when Lisa happened.”

“Don’t,” Chris barked out, the single word taut with desperation.

Arthur ignored him. “Christian Argent doesn’t exist anymore because Lisa Vasquez was the only one who called you Christian, wasn’t she? And you loved her.” The words hit Chris like a blow and he stumbled back, wild-eyed and shaken. Allison was still clinging to Derek, but she looked on the verge of running over to her father, too.

“Lisa had a secret, though. A secret she told you, a secret you would’ve kept to the death, if dearest _Katherine_ hadn’t found you again.”

Stiles felt the shudder rip through Derek like a gale and practically moulded himself against the Alpha’s back. In front of them, Arthur began to pace, a lethal length wrapped in pale grey tweed and a paisley silk tie. Stiles had seen the man’s socks as he’d slipped off the car trunk: they were a moss-green and sky-blue argyle pattern, tucked into his polished brown Chukkas, now with a small scuff where he’d nudged Gerard with his toe.

“Funny, isn’t it, how neither of you used your full names. No one bothered calling you Christian until Lisa came along, Lisa who saw more than your father’s son and your family’s legacy. And Katherine hid behind Kate because she was so determined to prove that she was no one’s damsel-in-distress. She had to be tougher than everyone else, and you gave her the perfect opportunity.” Stiles had never thought of Chris Argent as weak before, but watching him shake like a leaf under Arthur’s words was unnerving.

“And Kate knew at a single glance what you were trying so hard to hide, and she made you beg for their lives. For Lisa’s, and Allen’s.” Arthur paused, and Chris covered his mouth too late to muffle a sob.

Arthur hadn’t been joking at all, Stiles realised. He really was going to break Chris Argent, although how the man hadn’t broken before this, with all this weight on his neck…

“You would never have let Allen keep the Argent name,” Arthur continued, his even tone almost hypnotising. "You would have disappeared and never looked back, because your family’s life wasn’t your own. That was what you thought once, Christian. What happened?”

“ _Because they dragged me back and dragged her in too!”_

Chris’s shriek cut through the still night, ringing in all of their ears. The man fell to his knees and the anguish in his voice made Stiles turn away, swallowing down his pity. Allison threw herself forward and into her father, holding him tight. Chris’s arms immediately flew around her, clinging back just as tightly, and he was mouthing something into her hair that looked like, “My baby, my baby,” over and over again.

Stiles couldn’t watch, could only move to press his forehead against Derek’s back, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling the Alpha’s scent of leather and earth and musk, letting his heat and strength and restrained power anchor him in this moment.

And then Arthur started to speak again, his voice idly curious.

“Tell me, Christian, do you watch your father and sister kill Lisa and Allen over and over again the same way you watched it in person that night? I saw the archives, the labels, dated and geotagged. Was that all your work? I can’t imagine Gerard or Kate taking the time to fill in all that information. They were nothing but abominations in their eyes, after all.”

In that moment Stiles hated Arthur, hated the man for making them listen to this sordid, buried tale. The erratic thump of Derek’s heartbeat under his hands told him that he wasn’t the only one.

“Lisa wouldn’t have blamed you if it weren’t for Allen, you know.” Arthur’s voice went soft, almost tender, and he couldn’t help leaning forward, straining to hear his next words. “She knew you tried to keep her safe. She saw what you set in the works for her, the paperwork you never managed to file before Kate trampled all over your dreams.

“But what she didn’t understand was why you couldn’t have tried harder _for your own son.”_

Chris’s head dropped. Arthur had done it. He’d broken Chris Argent.

“You came back to Beacon Hills, gave up your ghost when Lisa and Allen gave up theirs. You turned a blind eye to whatever else Gerard and Kate did, played your part as the prodigal son so well people forgot you ever left. You let them marry you to Victoria Aurent, who should’ve been _Kate’s_ sister for all they got along so well. And then Victoria got pregnant.”

Arthur smiled, and for a moment, Stiles believed in the authenticity of it, the gentle curve of his mouth, the slope of his eyebrows. Then he saw the yawning abyss in Arthur’s eyes and blanched.

“She really is your daughter.”

Isaac went still, eyes ringed Beta-gold. Scott didn’t even have that much subtlety, snarling at Arthur with his dropped fangs.

“Scott, Scott, stop it,” Stiles babbled, arm thrown across his best friend’s chest.

Allison glared up at Arthur even as he continued to speak. “She followed right in her father’s footsteps, loved without regard of her family’s heritage. She was the one good thing you had left in your life.

“And you turned your back and let them try to destroy her too.”

Chris recoiled as if Arthur’s words were a physical blow.

“He didn’t!” Allison snapped, curling protectively around Chris. “He’s not like that!”

Arthur hummed, considering. “Maybe not,” he conceded. “After all, Scott’s still alive.” Then he tilted his head, eyebrow arched. “Although it’s not for lack of trying on their part, is it?” Scott made a low, wounded sound from the back of his throat.

“What do you want?” Chris begged, his voice thin and worn.

“Wrong question, _Christian,”_ Arthur cooed, something cold and pleased in his face when Chris flinched, again. “It’s not what I want; it’s what _you_ want. For the first time in your sorry, sorry life, nothing is holding you back anymore. Lisa and Allen are long dead and gone. But unless you want Allison to follow in their footsteps, in _yours,_ you need to start asking the right questions, _Christian.”_

“What the hell are you?” Chris whimpered, reedy and breathless.

Arthur smiled. He smiled, and Stiles gagged, forced himself to choke back his bile as he clung to Derek, uncaring of who would see him like this. He wasn’t alone, either; Derek had reached back the same time he’d reached forward, his hand hot and strong on his thigh, claws pinpricking through his jeans.

“Oh, _Christian,”_ Arthur sighed, “haven’t you realised it by now? The werewolves – you call them animals, but animals follow their instincts. They subscribe to a natural order that is logical, rational, and perfectly peaceable. Us humans, on the other hand…”

He heard Jackson break away from the pack to vomit and had never commiserated so hard with the jackarse in his entire life. God, if he never saw a sympathetic Arthur ever again in his life, it would still be too soon.

“We make the worst animals.”

There was a gun in Arthur’s hand, just like magic. It was pointed away from any of them, aimed at Gerard.

“Make your choice, Christian,” Arthur said, sounding almost bored. “Are you your father’s son or your daughter’s father?”

He fired once, the bullet ripping clean through Gerard’s ankle and jolting him awake. The old man let out a wounded bellow through his gag and his eyes were blazing and hateful as he took in the people surrounding him. Every single one of them.

Arthur cocked his gun. “Well? Christian?”

Chris was staring past Arthur, eyes locked onto Gerard’s form, and _he_ looked like he was about to be sick. His fingers were digging into Allison’s skin, harder and harder and harder until she bit her lip, carefully still. Scott surged forward, ignoring Isaac’s startled bleat to gentle Chris’s hands on Allison. Chris jerked up to stare at Scott, which had Isaac surging forward, hands shaking where they were fisted by his thighs, but Stiles just managed to snatch at the end of the blond’s scarf, keeping him back.

Scott dropped to his haunches beside Allison, who pushed herself between the 2 of them, keeping them apart. Stiles knew she loved Scott for taking that first step but she had to be terrified, too, because they’d already been bitten twice – would that now make them thrice shy? He couldn’t help but wonder what Chris Argent was feeling in that moment, to have his own kid look at him with open fear. He thought back to his relationship with his own father – it had never been easy, but fear, thankfully, had never been a part of it.

He looked at the 3 of them languishing together in limbo on the forest floor and found the words that had to be said.

“Do you really want your own kid to be afraid of you for the rest of your life?”

That was all Chris needed to hear. He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Do it.”

To his surprise, Arthur lowered his gun. “Mr. Eames-.”

Arthur didn’t even get the man’s full name out before there was a sniper shot drilling through Gerard’s skull, killing him instantly. Stiles’ feet were rooted to the ground and he had a nagging suspicion that if he and Derek weren’t pressed so closely together he’d be swaying like a felled tree right now. He couldn’t believe they’d forgotten about Eames when the Englishman had been Arthur’s shadow this entire time; Arthur had put that damn earpiece on in front of all of them and they hadn't once questioned who was on the other end of that line.

He didn’t know why he was surprised by any of this when the whole affair from the moment Arthur had entered town had been a show of power. Stiles’ heart was still rabbiting out of his chest as he wondered just who Eames had in his scope now.

Arthur put the safety back on and reholstered his gun. “I think we’re about done here.”

  
  


“What’s the story,” Stiles asked, “between you and my dad?”

He made the distinction because it was the truth: his dad was _his_ dad, not theirs, even if biologically they came from the same 2 people. Regardless of how hard his mum had tried in those 3 days when Arthur was 18, Stiles was certain Arthur didn’t see himself as family, no matter how he’d looked out for him in his own bizarre illegal ways since.

“An old lawman can usually add up the math,” he replied, “particularly ones like the Sheriff. He’s got a good eye, knows that your pack of pups are children with good hearts. Me, on the other hand – well, that feeling in his gut isn’t ever going to go away, despite the lack of a paper trail or charges.”

“Should you have a paper trail?”

Arthur sent him a look that said he was being deliberately obtuse. Right, as if killing Gerard Argent and his merry band of hunters in cold blood wasn’t evidence enough, not to mention his ridiculous hacking set-up.

Danny being able to trace a text was one thing, but Arthur had designed whole programmes that ran around Danny’s without even trying. He only had time to show him the basic stuff, how to bypass the standard database firewalls and raise flags in forums he’d been watching. It still beat out watching Twilight sequels for ‘research’.

Arthur also took him through a bit of hand-to-hand – a mix of dirty fighting and using an opponent’s body weight and momentum against them, with Derek and Eames watching over them.

Derek wouldn’t let him be alone with either of them, which Stiles might have chafed at, once, but he understood it, now. Even if Arthur had never hurt him, and Eames was obviously taking his cues from Arthur, if the past few days had taught him one thing, it was that Arthur didn’t even need to try to hurt someone.

But the hand-to-hand was super useful, especially since Stiles was resigned to never being anything more than wiry, and the ‘wolves leant too hard on their abilities for him to really keep up with them. Previously, Derek had tried, but all his past training sessions had ended up with Stiles flat on his back and breathless in the dirt.

Arthur taught him to level the playing field by keeping his distance, and when that failed, by being fast and dirty and _ruthless,_ taking out Eames without even breaking a sweat – Eames, who was built like a linebacker with sheer brute strength on his side, not werewolf-strong but close enough for their purposes.

It wouldn’t ever be enough to take on a ‘wolf head-on, especially not a born ‘wolf, but he should be able to muddle along until help came. Arthur left him a list of people he could go to if he ever wanted more training. Till then he’d make Derek and Scott practise with him till he could do what Arthur had shown him in his _sleep._

“You can tell him we’re leaving,” Arthur said. “We weren’t ever going to stay. In a town this small, we were only ever going to stand out.”

That was an understatement if there ever was one. No one in Beacon Hills wore more than a shirt, not even for Sunday service, and Arthur and his perfectly tailored suits stuck out like a sore thumb. He didn’t even get ruffled traipsing through the woods and doing his ninja stuff; that was just plain unfair.

“Besides, we can tell where we’re not wanted. We’ve already overstayed our welcome.”

He fidgeted uncomfortably. “You helped our pack,” he said, and didn’t mention how if Stiles hadn’t had his pack, if he'd still been alone, he might’ve asked for something very different instead. “I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Arthur studied him for a long moment. “You’re a good kid,” he finally said. “If things in my life had been different, I don’t think I would’ve minded turning out like you.” Stiles blushed, partly in pleasure and partly in sadness. “I noticed that from the first time we met and _you wouldn’t stop talking._ I was a complete stranger 12 years older than you and _you wouldn’t shut up.”_

Stiles smiled to himself ‘cause he knew himself better than anyone.

“Don’t worry about the fallout,” Arthur continued. “Consider it taken care of.” “

He looked up sharply.

Arthur looked faintly amused, just hinting at a dimple. “I knew you’d worry about it.”

Stiles bit his lip. “Do I want to know how much of a body count you left?”

“You do realise I was only gone for a day.”

“You killed 8 hunters overnight,” he returned flatly.

“I _allegedly_ killed 8 hunters overnight,” Arthur corrected. Stiles wasn’t even remotely surprised that his brother this much of an arsehole.

“Don’t worry about it,” Arthur said again. “Eames and I will take a detour on the way to Pradesh, take care of any loose ends.” He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a card. “If you ever need to get in touch with me again.” Stiles took the card gingerly, flipping it over. There was a strange, almost wistful expression on Arthur’s face as he said, “I kind of hope you don’t.”

He slipped the card into his hoodie pocket and awkwardly rocked back on his heels. “Is this it, then?” “

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Arthur was as dressed down as Stiles thought he’d ever be, jacket slung over his shoulder and sleeves rolled up to reveal lightly haired and leanly muscled forearms. His tie was slightly askew even if it was tucked neatly into his woollen waistcoat with a tiepin, and the top button of his shirt was undone. Still, his trousers were crisply pressed and his boots were freshly polished.

“It just seems a little anti-climatic, is all,” Stiles mumbled.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, a dimple deepening. “I could forget about that detour.”

“Oh god, no,” he blurted out, looking at- yes, a cold-hearted killer and the man who broke his friend’s father, but also someone who could’ve been family, who’d lent a helping hand where none other had appeared.

Huzzah for facets.

“Thank you,” he said. “For- for everything.”

Arthur shrugged, looking oddly coltish and adolescent. They had the same delicate bone at the base of their napes, connecting the neck vertebrae to the back vertebrae.

“I’ll see you when you let me.” He raised a hand but didn’t reach out. Stiles had no personal bubble to speak of but knew Arthur was pretty much the opposite. Apart from when he’d kept him from hurting himself, Arthur hadn’t touched him at all.

Arthur raised his own hand and waggled his fingers almost playfully. “I’ll see you when I let you,” he returned, and turned away with one last nod.

Stiles shifted to watch Arthur ago, saw Eames step out from where he’d been idling in the shadow of a giant oak tree. Neither of them looked back as they headed to their car, parked just out of sight. He could hear the car start up and waited until the sound of their engine faded into the distance.

Derek appeared over his shoulder like a shitty magic trick, causing him to roll his eyes.

“Thought I smelt a 'wolf,” he griped, even if he’d known Derek had to have been around somewhere, eavesdropping on their entire conversation. “Do you not understand the concept of privacy?”

“You’re in my territory,” Derek retorted with a nasty grin. “My land, my rules.”

He muttered a few choice words under his breath, with no doubt at all that the Alpha could hear every last word. Derek cuffed him and he lurched forward, but the weight of Derek’s arm draped over his shoulders was enough to keep him from stumbling. Still, he pointedly glared at the Alpha, digging a bony elbow between his ribs. Derek grunted but didn't even look winded, the arsehat.

“Why didn’t you ever mention him?” Derek asked. “Even Scott had no idea.”

“Dude, my answer’s never going to change no matter how much you ask,” he sighed, slumping back against him. “Arthur wasn’t ever my secret to tell- no, that’s not quite right. Arthur wasn’t ever a secret, he just…wasn’t ever there.”

“Except when it mattered.”

He bit his lip and thought back to the kid he’d been in first-grade, when he’d met Arthur for the very first time. He hadn’t thought about it this way, but Arthur had been his first friend.

“Maybe.”

He sunk further into Derek’s weight and warmth, feeling the Alpha settle back against him, temple to temple. Derek might have half again his body weight in pure muscle, but at least they were the same height now.

“Arthur was always different and I didn’t always understand him-,” although Stiles understood far more than he would ever let on, even to Derek, “-but he only ever tried to be good to me, like he was trying to make up for something.”

Derek shook his head, not unlike a wet dog. “He smelt wild, like danger. I never got a whiff of fear from him, not even when I attacked him with Erica and Boyd. There was just adrenaline and intent.”

“He’s something else, huh,” he chuckled weakly.

Derek huffed into his hair. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it.”

Stiles didn’t even bother trying to hide his derisive snort.

Derek pulled back enough for him to see his glare. “I didn’t like him in my territory and I think the pack’s better off with him gone. But-,” and here Derek looked reluctant, “-he helped us. There wasn’t a good way for this to end.”

And that wasn’t even including that _detour_ Arthur and Eames would take to Pradesh, whoever that was. This old bone between the Hale pack and the Argents would never have been buried without one last coat of blood. That it was Gerard’s just made that satisfaction all the sweeter.

“Did you notice,” Stiles hesitantly began, “that- that all of this – Arthur’s involvement, judging Gerard, even involving Chris – that was all decided by us? The humans, I mean. I brought up the damn thing in the first place. Lydia and Danny made our stand clear, and Allison gave us Gerard. Do you- do you think it's true- what Arthur said about-.”

Derek said nothing at all, just tucked him under his chin and _breathed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap for the main story; it's just the Epilogue to go.


End file.
